


Heart Like Mine

by Raine_Wynd



Series: Without Love [5]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assumptions, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sex, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Femslash, Foul Language, Found Family, Friendship, Holidays, Inspired by Music, Light Bondage, Miscommunication, Multi, Religious Cults, Romance, Slow Build, Starting Over, Watchers, Weddings, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: An old friend of Duncan's is looking for a fresh start in a new city, but will a self-proclaimed Goth fairy princess be charmed into taking a chance on her for more than a night's pleasure?
Relationships: Duncan MacLeod & Richie Ryan, Duncan MacLeod/Original Female Character, Kyra (Highlander) & Richie Ryan, Kyra (Highlander)/Duncan MacLeod, Kyra (Highlander)/Original Female Character, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Richie Ryan/Others
Series: Without Love [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483481
Comments: 47
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because Lily won't leave my head.  
Fair warning: this got long, so please subscribe. I intend to have this finished before the onslaught of holiday fic if not shortly thereafter. :)
> 
> Also, there's mention of a fictional religious cult, and mention of religious practices in regards to specific characters. Please do not interpret this work to be an endorsement of anything other than safe sex, love, consistent communication, and happiness. :-)

#### Wednesday, September 2, 2020

To accommodate a private training session, Duncan and Richie had opened the dojo at eleven AM. It was now 11:30, and the expected student was a no-call, no-show.

“How much do you want to bet he’ll want a refund?” Richie asked dryly as he lounged against the doorframe of the dojo’s office, aware Duncan had insisted on prepayment.

Duncan looked up from his seat in the small office and shook his head. “I warned him he’ll only get a partial refund if he’s a no-show.”

Both stiffened as the feeling of immortal Presence, old and strong, swept through them. “Are you expecting an old friend?” Richie asked.

“No, and it’s not Methos. I’d know his Presence anywhere.”

“I heard from Amanda you two had quite an experience in Bordeaux,” Richie said. “She said Joe told her you and Methos shared a pair of Quickenings from a few old friends of his.”

Duncan grimaced as he reached for his katana. “Yeah. Not something I recommend doing.”

Richie barked a laugh. “No, I’d imagine not.” He stepped out of the office doorway to allow Duncan to pass ahead of him and greet the unknown immortal. Richie moved to the reception desk, where he had stashed his sword in a hidden drawer.

The stunning, curvaceous blonde stepped warily into the dojo. A heavyweight black leather motorcycle jacket hid her sword even as it revealed she wore a green button-down shirt underneath it. Jeans and knee-high riding boots completed her outfit. A backpack, stuffed full, pulled at the jacket, revealing more of her hourglass figure. She pulled a battered aluminum suitcase behind her. She had an oval face, straight nose, hazel eyes, a wide smile, and a confidence that said while she might be in unfamiliar territory, she knew exactly who she was.

Though it had been two decades since he had last seen her, Duncan recognized her instantly. His smile warmed and he hastily set aside his sword to greet her with a hug.

“Kyra! What brings you here?”

Kyra grinned, set her suitcase aside, and she stepped into his hug readily, returning it. “Looking for you. Amanda said I could find you here. I went looking for you in Paris and couldn’t find you or your barge.” A British accent colored her speech.

“Ah, well, I sold the barge years ago, and haven’t been back in Paris to live since. Kyra, I’d like you to meet a friend, my former student, Richie Ryan. Richie, this is Kyra, an old friend.”

Kyra shook hands with Richie. “We’ve known each other about three hundred eighty years,” she volunteered. “Last time I saw him was in 1998.” She looked at Duncan. “You didn’t mention you had a student then.”

“I wasn’t in Paris in ’98. I was doing all I could to stay out of his shadow back then and make my way without him,” Richie told her. At her look of understanding, he added, “He still likes to kick my ass every week just to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Are you visiting or here to stay?”

“To stay,” Kyra agreed. “I got burned out on being a bodyguard to VIPs, so now I do commercial security consulting.” She looked at Duncan. “As much as I hate admitting I need help, I don’t suppose you have a guest room I can borrow for a few weeks? My credit card was declined this morning at the hotel.” She grimaced. “All my funds are pending wire transfer from Greece, and I have no idea when that will be. The banker at First Seacouver Bank claimed it could be at least two weeks, which seems ridiculous given the speed of withdrawals for any other reason.”

Duncan winced, thinking of how Vanessa was still adjusting to her new normal. “My girlfriend just had a rough summer. I’ve been doing as much as I can to make sure my home is a sanctuary for her. As much as I’d like to host you, I have to refuse. Sorry.”

Understanding blossomed on Kyra’s face.

“However – Richie, do you have room?”

The look Richie shot him said Richie knew Duncan was asking more to give Richie the choice of refusing.

Kyra turned to Richie expectantly. “I know you and I don’t know each other, but Amanda vouched for you separately from MacLeod. Said you were strong, charming, and kind, and if you were here, I’d be in good company. I’m older than she is, and I’ve spent most of my life either as a soldier or as a bodyguard. I was raised to be a priestess of Artemis in Sparta.” Kyra smiled. “Amanda and I met about six hundred years ago when she was fleeing an insistent suitor, who was someone I was hunting.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “That explains the text I got from her this morning, asking me if I’d met any new friends. I thought she was warning me about some headhunter. When I tried to get her to be specific, she claimed she was tired and was going to bed.” He rolled his eyes. “As if I didn’t know by now that’s code for ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’”

Kyra laughed. “That sounds like Amanda.”

Richie grinned, liking Kyra. He could feel Duncan standing nearby, radiating hope he would offer an old friend a place to stay. For a moment, Richie debated on the odds that Kyra was a past lover, then told himself that given he had yet to meet an old female immortal Duncan hadn’t slept with, the odds Kyra was the exception were slim. It would only matter to Vanessa anyway.

“Yeah, I worked for her for ten years at Sanctuary as the lead bartender until Mac convinced me to come back to Seacouver and open a dojo. I’d love to hear your stories.”

Kyra’s smile widened. “I might need a drink or two to tell a few, but I also don’t kiss and tell.”

“Even better.” If he texted Amanda, Richie was certain she would tell him he had nothing to worry about Kyra. That only solidified his sense of Kyra as someone worth getting to know; he’d reserve judgment about her intentions until he had a better sense of them. He had no reason to believe her story about needing a place to stay be untrue – and he could always verify who she was with people who weren’t Amanda and Duncan, namely, his Watcher, Genevieve.

To cover his thoughts, Richie said, “I’d love to help you. I have a guest room you can use until you find an apartment. Did you want to get settled? Our next classes aren’t until two, but my place is downtown.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Kyra said gratefully. “If I meet with another realtor and look at yet another office space that doesn’t meet what I need, I’m going to kill someone. How hard can it be to find an office with a decent bathroom?”

Duncan smothered a laugh. “This is why I buy the entire building,” he told her just as the man who had booked the private appointment burst into the dojo.

“So sorry I’m late, my meeting ran over, and then some idiot blocked my car in, and it’s been a hell of a morning,” he said breathlessly. “Is it too late to teach me anything?”

“Let’s reschedule,” Duncan suggested, “for when you’ll be in the right frame of mind to do this.”

The man looked crestfallen. “But if I don’t know how to do this, my wife will be so embarrassed! The wedding is Saturday and I said I could–”

Richie didn’t wait to hear the rest of the story, certain it would be a whopper. Duncan would undoubtedly tell him what happened anyway. Instead, he led Kyra outside. “I take it you had a cab drop you off?”

Kyra nodded. “Hope it’s not too much of a bother.”

Richie shook his head and considered her suitcase and backpack. He pulled out his phone. He texted Genevieve first – _blond female immortal, claims she was raised to be a priestess of Artemis in Sparta and to be older than Amanda, says her name is Kyra. Do you know who she is? – _before he hailed a ride via a ride-sharing app.

“Only in the sense that your suitcase is too big to fit my motorcycle’s trunk and I didn’t bring any bungee cords, so we’ll get a ride. Have you been to Seacouver before?”

Kyra shook her head. “No. I was homesick and tried to make a go of things in Athens, but Greece is so unstable right now. It’s partly why I’m having money problems – a lot of my money is in Greek banks. I should have left everything in London, but all I could think of when I left was how I wanted to go home.”

“When was that?”

“Oh, about fifteen years ago.” She shook her head. “Nostalgia’s a dangerous thing to indulge in.”

Richie grinned. “I know. I grew up here. Sometimes I see my old gang symbols on some forgotten piece of brick, and I get all fond for shit I left behind years ago.”

Surprised, Kyra looked at him. “You were in a gang?”

“Yeah, I broke into Mac’s antique store when I was seventeen. Last shop I ever tried to rob.”

Kyra chuckled. “I can see why.”

The ride-share car arrived promptly, and after depositing Kyra’s suitcase and backpack in the trunk, Richie and Kyra climbed into the back seat.

“Are you visiting the city from out of town?” the driver asked as he started the drive.

“No,” Richie said, aware that the drivers on this app were encouraged to converse with their riders. It sometimes resulted in uneven driving. “But if you promise to focus on driving instead of talking, I’ll tip well and rate you highly.”

The driver took the hint. “Got it.”

Kyra looked at Richie, curious.

“I have this thing about being in control when I drive. It’s partly why I ride a motorcycle and only ride the bus or use ride-share when it’s too icy or cold to ride.”

She grinned in understanding. “I can understand that. Is parking a problem in this city?”

“City’s been pushing to get people to take mass transit more, so they haven’t encouraged building new parking garages,” Richie told her. “It’s made what spaces exist turn into premium. I used to ride because the transit sucked. Now it’s better, but I still ride because I’m usually going home late at night, when the crosstown buses are a crapshoot on safety.”

“How come?” Kyra realized.

“City still has issues with gangs,” Richie told her. “Don’t ride the bus alone after ten pm unless you’re prepared to defend yourself, and that includes not making eye contact with anyone.”

“At least you don’t have neo-Nazis inciting violence and people so unhappy with the government’s policies they’ll kill innocents.”

Richie grimaced. “No, thankfully not, but I’ve been harassed because I look young enough to be in a gang.” He looked at her. “And you’re pretty, blonde, and female, which–”

“Makes me a perfect target,” Kyra noted dryly. “What do you do for Duncan at the dojo?”

“I’m the business manager. If it’s needed, I help spot the students during the training classes. We have six full-time instructors, so I’m usually riding herd on the parents, who sometimes want to interfere.”

“How long has the dojo been open?”

“A little over a year; we opened last April. What made you move here?”

Kyra hesitated. “Honestly, it was hearing you and Duncan were here,” she admitted. “I don’t need a man for anything, but I’ve been…feeling lonely lately. I piss off most people because I’ve always thought I could do everything myself. It’s made the number of people among our kind whom I call friend small.”

“And you think it’s time for a change?” Amusement colored Richie’s voice.

“Well,” Kyra mused, “Amanda reminded me that the number of people we know who can relate to us is getting smaller as the years pass. I hate the Game.”

“Do you play it often?”

“Only out of necessity,” Kyra replied. “The time I thought my contributions would make any whit of difference in the number of hunters is long past.” She drew in a breath, aware their driver was avidly listening. “And frankly, I’m tired of guarding people who can’t take a shit in private because some crazed stalker fan will take a photo of them on the toilet and post it to Instagram. I’d like to do something else, whether it’s my business or working for someone else.” She flashed a smile. “And I might be pushing my timeline just out of paranoia than necessity.”

“Then don’t,” Richie recommended. “My boyfriend gets like that and I usually have to talk him out of whatever harebrained scheme he’s thought of, because it’s mostly stress talking.”

Kyra smiled. “Probably. I’m too used to thinking I have a contract that expires at some future date. Given my situation, what would you do?”

Richie shrugged. “Take a week or two off. Figure out if it’s jet lag or elevated expectations or both and explore the city.” He flashed her a smile. “If nothing else, that’ll give you time to figure out if you like what the city offers, where to live, and how to get around.”

Kyra smiled ruefully. “I might just do that. I’ve always pushed myself to succeed, and I hate being broke.”

“Oh, I know that one,” Richie agreed. “It’s one reason I’m glad I don’t have to pay rent.”

The driver dropped them off in front of the Wilburton Building, a historic location in the city once home to one of the city’s landmark hotels. It now housed luxury condos. Richie’s was the penthouse suite. Kyra admired the security on the building as Richie used his keycard to disengage the lock on the security gate that blocked access to his building.

“Bad neighborhood?” she asked once they were in the elevator.

“Typical big-city downtown,” he replied as he swiped his keycard to activate the elevator. “And this neighborhood has three of the city’s homeless shelters four blocks south of here, so you get a lot of loiters and panhandlers. It’s more annoying and disheartening than something to fear.” He shrugged. “I spent most of my childhood on the street, so it doesn’t bother me the way it might someone else.”

“You weren’t in foster care?”

“Technically, yes,” Richie agreed, with a slight wave of his hand. “But my probation officer saw more of me than the foster family I was last placed with. Did you grow up in a family?”

“I was raised by a priestess of Artemis,” Kyra replied. “I spent a lot of time wondering if I’d been abandoned because of my gender; boys were more prized in Sparta.”

Richie grimaced. “And here I thought the further back in history I went, I might find evidence my gender wasn’t full of assholes.”

Kyra laughed. “There have been exceptions, but for the most part – no. I’ve had to prove myself repeatedly for two millennia. Do you feel safe in this neighborhood?”

“I do, actually. However, I wouldn’t expect anyone to loiter outside the building late at night, myself included.”

“No, in a downtown neighborhood that’s largely office space, that’s asking for trouble. Someone will see you as a target, even if you belong exactly where you are.”

Richie unlocked the door of the condo and let Kyra inside. Once she had stepped inside, he shut and locked the door as the alarm system beeped.

Hearing it, Kyra asked, “Should you reset it to show people are inside?”

“No.” Richie did not elaborate, unwilling to tell her that the advanced system had cameras, motion sensors, and heat detection. He made a mental note to email his monitoring company to add her to the list of ‘allowed visitors.’

At twelve hundred square feet, the two-bedroom, two-bath condo sprawled across the back corner of the building and featured a balcony off the living room. The floor plan had the guest bedroom and guest bathroom on the left side of the open-floor-plan kitchen/dining room/living room; the master bedroom suite was on the other side. Duncan had changed out the original carpeting to hardwood floors throughout, except for the kitchen and bathrooms, which had tile. September sunshine flooded through the many windows, which Richie had covered with curtains and pulldown UV shades for extra privacy. With Duncan’s help, Richie had decorated the space with a mix of comfortable modern and vintage furniture and accents, with nods to Richie’s love of Paris, fine art, motorcycles, and travel.

“This is beautiful and spacious. Do you share this with anyone?”

“Not most days,” Richie told her. “As much as my girlfriend and my boyfriend like using this space on weekends as a base to go to the theatre or the museum, they want me to move in with them, but I’m not ready.” Seeing her jerk with surprise, he added, “And yes, you heard me right: I’m involved with two people, who know about it. They’re married to each other, so it would be hard to hide.”

“Good for you,” Kyra murmured. “Americans get too scandalized over sex.”

Richie shot her a quick grin. “Yes, well, speaking as an American who grew up mostly on the street, I never have been.”

“That would be rough,” Kyra noted, studying him. “Did you have somewhere safe to live?”

“Did a lot of couch surfing, since the city didn’t open a homeless shelter for youth until a decade ago, but there were nights I slept in an alley. I ran with a gang; we had a crash pad in a condemned apartment building for a while.” He shrugged. “If I hadn’t met the MacLeods when I did, I would likely be dead by now.”

“But you would’ve been immortal.”

Richie shook his head. “Not for exceedingly long, given the way the gang I was with was going. They were moving into dealing drugs, not just robbing stores. Have you ever gotten the feeling that if you stepped left instead of right, your life as you know it wouldn’t exist?”

Kyra laughed. “Oh yes. I almost was talked out of running in a race for Sparta, because I was a woman running against a man. Doing so got me killed my first time, but I’ll never regret that run. I won; he cheated.”

Richie grinned. “Were you able to prove it?”

“My teacher used my body as evidence of cheating, so I felt vindicated.”

“I can imagine. Guest room’s this way,” Richie said, leading her to the room. “I’ll get you the spare keys in a minute; I had a set made for my boyfriend, but he just uses our girlfriend’s set. Let me know if you need anything.”

Kyra nodded. “I’m sure you need to return to work. Anything I should know?”

“There’s a grocery store two blocks north,” Richie told her, “and fantastic restaurants in the neighborhood. The pub next door is one of the best in the city for food and drinks. Speaking as a former bartender, I recommend them highly, unless you’re allergic to seafood, or hate Mediterranean-themed food.”

“My Greek ancestors would be horrified if I ever became allergic to seafood, or grew to hate the food I grew up on,” Kyra murmured, grinning widely. “What else?”

“One of the city’s best LGBTQ+ dance clubs is six blocks south of here, which is proof that the city’s changed since I was a teenager. The LGBTQ+ neighborhood is half a mile northeast of here, though it’s gentrified. It’s not the same as it was twenty years ago, when it felt more like a place to thumb one’s nose at heterosexuality and gender norms.”

“I’ll remember that. Any problems with harassment?”

Richie shook his head. “The city's anti-discrimination ordinance includes sexual orientation, and same-gender marriage is legal.” He paused. “Do you have a preference?”

“Women more than men, but I like strong, confident, intelligent people. Would you have any issue if I brought someone home?”

Richie considered the topic a moment. “At the moment: yes,” he said finally. “I don’t know you that well yet.”

“Even with MacLeod and Amanda vouching for me?”

“Mac once assured me a lot of things,” Richie said evenly, “and I’ve learned to trust but verify.”

Kyra’s eyes widened at the hardness of Richie’s tone. There was an old story there, she realized, full of hurt and pain. Suddenly, Amanda’s words about Richie made sense. _He’s more forgiving than most, but don’t expect him to assume Mac’s word is infallible. Or mine. _“In that case,” Kyra told Richie, “I won’t bother to bring anyone home for a night’s pleasure. I can wait until I get an apartment.”

“Appreciate it. Also, the front door shuts automatically and is coded to an alarm.” Richie flashed an apologetic smile. “No, I’m not going to give you the code to disable it unless you’re here longer than two weeks. I have a workaround I’ll use.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Kyra replied easily. “Any objections to me rummaging through your fridge and pantry?”

Richie shook his head. “No. If you cook, please clean up. The stove has power burners, so they run hotter than your average stove. Don’t use metal utensils on the cookware. The laundry closet is just outside of the guest bedroom, and the cabinets above the washer have detergent and fabric softener.”

“Got it. Thanks, Richie.”

He gave her the spare keys, then traded phone numbers with her, adding, “If you need something, text me. I’m more available than Mac, but I might not answer right away. I should be back here around ten or eleven, depending on how quickly we get the dojo cleaned up and ready for tomorrow’s classes. Do you need cash?”

Kyra shook her head. “No, I have enough to get something to eat if I go out, but it’s not enough to extend my stay at the hotel unless I go find a hostel.” She frowned, hating that she had to rely on a relative stranger for shelter. “And even if I found out my funds transferred tomorrow, I’ve done enough searching for an office the past week to know it’ll take me at least two weeks to find an apartment.”

“I don’t recommend the hostel downtown,” Richie warned her, “so you’re better off. Mac will want to be sure you’re okay, so expect a breakfast invitation unless you want me to tell him you’re okay with eating dinner late.”

“Not at ten or eleven, sorry. I don’t mind meeting him for breakfast, though. And since Duncan will probably ask – I don’t have anyone chasing after me I know of.”

Richie grinned. “Will do. I’ll see you tonight.”

* * *

Left alone, Kyra surveyed her temporary home, appreciating the mix of vintage and modern even as it reflected Richie’s vibrant spirit. The spacious guest bedroom was decorated in grays, blues, and cream. The queen-size bed was in a wrought-iron four-poster frame. Two antique walnut nightstands flanked the bed. A gray-tufted pillow transformed a chest at the foot of the bed into a bench. A freestanding mirror stood in the corner by the built-in closet, which had louvered bifold doors. The bathroom was connected to the guest suite by a door.

Hanging over the bed was a stunning photograph-on-canvas of a bridge over the Seine River, shot at nighttime from the pier at the exact spot Kyra remembered Duncan’s barge had been. That told her Richie had a special attachment to the area and had lived with Duncan on said barge at some point. It made her wonder how long Richie had lived with Duncan before striking out on his own.

Dismissing it as trivial information, Kyra unpacked. The closet had hangers and built-in storage, so she was able to put everything she had brought in her suitcase and her backpack. A quick check of the washer and dryer revealed that they were full-sized, and Richie used scent-free detergent, stain remover, and fabric softener. Kyra’s estimation of his awareness went up; too many people used perfumes, making them distinct. She decided she would run a load later, when she had more to wash.

She put her phone on its charger and set up her laptop on the desk in the guest room before detouring into the kitchen to make herself lunch. Finding the fridge and pantry to be better stocked than she expected, she treated herself to a salad of seared seasoned chicken, olive, tomato, and onions, dusted with Greek spices. Richie’s cookware told her he took his cooking seriously; when she had set up her last apartment, she had limited herself to what she did not mind having to replace. After eating, she cleaned up after herself, then stepped out to the balcony.

Below her, the city teemed with life. She closed her eyes, hoping this time, she could finally find the peace and security that had eluded her most of her long life. She had spent a thousand years fighting as a soldier, then another thousand as a bodyguard to the rich, powerful, and famous. She had loved and been loved by men and women, and yet… she longed for someone who would support her, not judge her for her feminism, and who wanted to build a home with her.

_First things first_, she told herself firmly. _Find an office where you can work and meet potential clients. Find an apartment. Get money transferred so you aren’t dependent on a man – even a nice, gracious, and appropriately paranoid one like Richie._


	2. Chapter 2

#### Thursday, September 3, 2020

“Morning, Genevieve,” Richie greeted his Watcher, taking a seat in the coffeeshop near her work, which was a motorcycle dealership.

Genevieve Rojas was a petite Hispanic woman in her mid-thirties originally from France. She had long wavy brown hair, a warm smile, cappuccino-brown skin, and a diamond-shaped face. She was slender but broad shouldered, with a litheness to her body. Her quiet demeanor and tendency to downplay her beauty made her forgettable, which made her the perfect Watcher.

“Rarely do I find such pleasure in your texting me to ask about others of your kind,” Genevieve told him now. She sipped from an oversize mug. “Kyra’s one of the oldest of your kind still alive – male or female. She’s 2,468 years old.”

Richie jerked in surprise at that number. “Amanda’s only twelve hundred. No wonder Amanda was worried about making sure I met her and didn’t want to say she was that concerned.”

Genevieve nodded. “Kyra has either worked as a soldier or a bodyguard for most of her life. Do you know Kyra has no Watcher?”

Richie blinked at that. “How come?”

“Because her last one died in 1990 and no one was reassigned to her because she was guarding a Greek pop star. HQ determined to insert a Watcher into that circus would be too difficult.”

“Are you volunteering?” Richie teased Genevieve now.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “As if that how the process works. But she’s one I’ve been asked to keep an eye out for, since she’s usually working in security and is not likely to take kindly to us.”

Richie blew out a breath. “Then I guess we’d better tell her.”

Seeing his reluctance, Genevieve grinned. “Make Duncan do it. Are you and him sparring Sunday?”

“You know he’s gotten more insistent on these sessions since Scott came to town. I feel like I’ve gotten more training from him the last year than I ever had in all the years before now.”

Genevieve studied him. “You wish he’d given you that training and attention before.”

Richie shrugged. “Part of me does, sure. But he’s finally accepted I’ve done well without him, and that I’ve learned tricks he doesn’t know. I’m hoping with Kyra here, he’ll take female immortals more seriously than he has in the past.”

“He’ll never take a lover’s head, Richie. You couldn’t when it was Kristin.”

“That was before I knew better,” he countered, and his Watcher conceded that truth with a slight tilt of her head. “Much as I wish Felice Martins took the opportunity to keep living Duncan gave her, she didn’t; she came to Paris looking to even the score.”

Genevieve nodded; she had seen the fight and recorded it for Richie’s Chronicle. Felice had tried to charm her way into Richie’s good graces, gambling that despite seventeen years’ distance, he would be interested in rekindling their affair. Older and wiser, Richie had seen through her scheming. When he had demanded to know what she was after, she had challenged him. Taking a former lover’s head had hurt, but Richie had refused to hesitate. Learning from Felice’s Quickening she had hoped to use his death to cripple Duncan had only solidified his conviction he had done the right thing.

“I’ll text you if we invite Kyra to spar with us; I don’t know if Mac will. He was always convinced Amanda couldn’t fight, so he never asked her to spar. Of course,” Richie added, “she let him think she was hopeless with a sword, too.”

Genevieve snorted. “Right. I saw how she taught you and Nick.”

Relieved by the conversation, Richie soon took his leave.

* * *

#### Saturday, September 5

“Do you have plans for the evening?” Richie asked as he stepped out into the living room, carrying a duffel bag.

“No,” Kyra told him. “I checked with the bank yesterday and they say I have to wait another week for the rest of my funds to clear.” She sighed. “At this rate, it might be easier for me to ask you or Duncan to pay for my ticket to Athens so I can make the withdrawal myself and take the money, but I’m sure that would raise eyebrows at Customs.”

Richie grimaced. “Figured as much; I’ve been there. If you’re game for company, my partners are hosting dinner with friends tonight, and I’d like you to meet them.”

Kyra smiled. “I’d like that. Tell me about them.”

“Delara and Patrick are married,” Richie began. “They kept putting off their wedding because they wanted a third person in their relationship and couldn’t find someone who understood that while they would commit to that person, they wanted to be married to each other.”

“And you don’t mind?”

Richie chuckled. “I love being around people, but I like my space. Being involved with Delara and Patrick means I don’t have to worry as much about neglecting them because they have each other.” He shook his head. “I’ve been accused of being too intense with my lovers.”

“Too energetic, too focused, too devoted, too obsessed with their safety?” Kyra asked dryly.

“Something like that.” He studied her. “If you don’t mind me asking, you don’t look like you were that much older than I was when I died the first time. I was nineteen. You?”

“Twenty-five,” Kyra admitted. “I’ve heard variations on ‘too intense’ all my life. I’ve learned it means either ‘you’re smothering me’ or ‘I’m really not a good fit for you’ or ‘I don’t know what to nitpick, so I’ll go with this vague quality.’”

Richie smothered a laugh. “Yeah, I can imagine. Anyway, Delara comes from a family that loves to celebrate holidays and she’s carried that tradition forward. She likes to feed people and have people over, so having another person at the table tonight will be welcome.” He paused. “Persia and Greece used to fight each other, didn’t they?”

Kyra chuckled. “Yes, a long time ago, but I won’t hold it against Delara. Does she work?”

“As an interpreter for a company that helps American businesses do business in the Middle East and elsewhere. Patrick’s a mechanical engineer; he just started at a new company six weeks ago.”

“You look relieved by that.”

“We had to convince him the world wouldn’t end if he took a job at a firm that would treat him better,” Richie revealed. “He’s been so much happier already. He grew up in a very conservative, fundamentalist Christian family. It’s been difficult for him to accept that some things he was taught to cherish don’t work or aren’t sustainable, like you stick to the job you were hired to do, no matter what.”

Kyra made a face. “That’s ridiculous. I say that as a former priestess for a goddess, mind you. I remember when I thought I should be more grateful that I had food and shelter instead of complaining that my life was dull and routine.”

Richie snorted. “I haven’t known you that long, but I can’t imagine you putting up with sweeping the temple when you would rather do something else.” He glanced at his watch. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

“What time?”

“Dinner’s at six-thirty, but I usually head over at four to help with prep. I’ll warn you now, though, it’ll be on my motorcycle. I don’t own a car.”

“Will Duncan be there?”

“Should be; he’s bringing Vanessa, his girlfriend.”

“Oh, good, then I can meet her then too. I haven’t ridden on the back of a motorcycle in a while. Should I bundle up?”

“Not a bad idea; the temperature is expected to drop later tonight, and it’s always five to ten degrees colder on the back of a motorcycle than were you standing still. I have a spare helmet you can borrow, too, if you’re worried about that sort of thing.”

“Does this state have a helmet law?”

Richie nodded. “For the driver; it’s not required for the passenger, but I feel better if my passenger has one.”

“Yeah, I’ve been killed while operating a motorcycle a few times,” Kyra noted, “Not fun. Should I bring anything to dinner?”

Richie shook his head. “Just a willingness to talk and meet people. Delara likes to dress up for these things, but if you don’t want to change into something fancier, you don’t have to.” He paused, remembering something. “I assume since Mac didn’t use a last name when he introduced you, you don’t have one?”

“Not originally, no. But my passport says Stamoulis.”

Richie flashed a smile. “That works. I’ll see you around four.”

* * *

Delara heard the lock turn in the front door and smiled as the door opened and Richie announced his entrance. “I am here, my loves, and I brought a friend.”

Grinning at his dramatic words, Delara hurried out of the kitchen to greet him. She caught sight of the stunning blonde woman behind him, carrying a tote bag. Suspecting Richie expected her to respond to that, she asked archly, “Replacing me already?” She couldn’t hold her feigned outrage and giggled.

Laughing, he kissed her. “Delara, this is Kyra Stamoulis, one of Mac’s friends, and my houseguest while she looks for a place to live and work. Kyra, this is my girlfriend, Delara Wirtz.”

“Richie mentioned you might need an extra hand prepping dinner,” Kyra remarked after shaking Delara’s hand. She raised the bag she carried. “And I brought a nicer blouse and skirt to wear for dinner, so if what I’m wearing gets splattered, I’m covered.”

Delara grinned. “I’ll never turn down a hand with dinner, and you can borrow our guest room to change.”

“Where’s Patrick?” Richie wondered as he shut the door behind Kyra. “Oh, and Kyra – shoes off, please.”

“Over at Lily and Vanessa’s; the garage door stuck open and Lily asked him to see if he could fix it. He should be here in about twenty minutes. Kyra, to hang your coat somewhere you can reach your sword, put it on the back of a chair in the dining room; else it’ll get buried under the other coats in the closet by the time everyone’s here.”

Surprised, Kyra did as she was directed. She then backtracked and removed her boots, noting as she did so Richie, once he peeled himself out of his gear, made a pile near the door. He hung his sword on a set of pegs on the wall near the door, turning it into a decoration that would not rate a second look.

“How did you guess I was immortal?” Kyra asked when she returned to the kitchen.

Delara shrugged. “I didn’t; Richie told me, plus you did that ‘where can I put my coat close by’ thing Richie and Mac do.”

Kyra and Richie laughed.

“That tells me you’ve spent a lot of time around them.”

Delara nodded. “I was more surprised you weren’t Amanda, actually,” Delara said as she put water in a pot.

“She said something about how she doesn’t want to be bad luck for Richie,” Kyra volunteered. “But she also said that if he ever wanted to come back and work for her again, she’d hire him on the spot.”

Richie laughed as he washed his hands and then made room for Kyra to do the same. “I did that for ten years; not in a rush to do so again.”

“How long have you, Richie, and Patrick been together?” Kyra wondered as she washed her hands.

“It’s only been a year for the three of us,” Delara said as she pulled apples out of the crisper and stacked them beside the sink. “Patrick and I have been together for six years and known each other for nine. Our first wedding anniversary is in December.”

“You seem to have accepted immortality well,” Kyra noted as she washed the vegetables.

Delara barked a laugh. “That’s because my husband does the worrying for both of us. I can’t imagine my life without Richie or Duncan in it.” She pulled a bag of potatoes and a bag of onions out of the pantry and set them beside the sink; the sound they made punctuated her words. “Even if we walked away, we can’t unknow what we know. I can’t imagine doing that and not wondering if the next person I fall in love with is immortal – and if they were, then I have the same problem I had before. That seems like a kind of madness. Better to keep loving the immortal I know, who loves me and will die to protect me and my husband. Better to remain friends with his teacher, who is just as committed to protecting those he loves and considers friend. Then I know who the immortals on my side are, and any new ones I meet will either be friends or they’re not. I don’t want to obsess over the rest of it.”

Kyra looked at her admiringly before looking at Richie. “You’re lucky. My last long-term lover used to debate with me the morality of playing judge, jury, and executioner.”

Hearing and seeing the flash of grief, Richie paused in his search for a peeler to say, “I’m sorry. How long were you together?”

“A decade. Richard was a judge who sentenced a war criminal, Milos Vladic, to jail. I was tempted to take Vladic’s head, but I thought I’d let the justice system handle him. My mistake. As soon as the sentence was handed down, Vladic murdered my boyfriend and tried to kill me. I wound up in a Parisian mental hospital, with no memory of who I was or what had happened.” Kyra shook her head. “Vladic hunted me down and sent assassins to kill me. I escaped and wandered the streets. Mac found me and had to convince me we had not only met before in 1640, but that I was immortal, and that I was in danger. Thank God I remembered everything in time to kill Vladic.”

“I can’t imagine what that would be like,” Delara murmured as she handed Richie a cutting board and a pair of onions. “And if one of you would please scrub the potatoes and chop the onions, I need a hand with mixing. If it’s not too much to ask, Kyra, where are you from?”

“I’m originally Greek, but I spent enough time in England protecting the royal family that my accent solidified into a British one I can’t shed,” Kyra admitted. “Richie mentioned you’re Persian.”

Delara chuckled. “More American than Persian – my mom was pregnant with me when she emigrated, but I grew up with one foot in both cultures. I know my history. Do you speak Arabic?”

“And Greek, Latin, French, and Spanish,” Kyra said. “My Farsi is shit, which bugs me to no end, because I used to speak it.”

“It’s a language where if you aren’t using it, it’s hard to remember how to put together sentences,” Delara agreed as she retrieved a bowl full of dough from the oven. “I started on this flatbread earlier. Do you know how to finish it?”

“Yes, but tell me how you want me to,” Kyra countered. “Everyone makes it differently and I don’t want to mess this up, especially as beautifully risen as this looks. How many people are you expecting?”

“Let’s see, you plus me, Patrick, and Richie is four, Duncan, Vanessa, and Lily makes seven, and then there’s Riker and Sharon, Scott and his husband, and maybe three more, so it’ll be a tight fit around the table if everyone shows up. Or we could do a buffet; I haven’t decided yet.”

Richie chuckled. “You’d be happy if we had twenty people in the house.”

“True,” Delara said, “but you eat like you’re three people, so that’s how I count.”

Richie grinned widely, not taking offense.

* * *

By the time Patrick arrived, bringing fresh flowers for the table, Kyra was deep in discussion with Richie and Delara over what was popular in cinema in Greece versus the United States. The trio were working together to create the fall-inspired menu, which featured Hasselback sweet potatoes, Brussel sprouts with onions and bacon, a rice-and-vegetable pilaf, fig-and-goat-cheese flatbread, and maple-glazed roasted chicken. Already, the house smelled amazing, and Kyra realized why the kitchen had two full-sized ovens and a countertop convention/toaster oven.

“I see you found help,” Patrick announced, setting the bouquet of flowers down on the dining room table. Seeing that both his wife and his boyfriend had their hands full of ingredients, Patrick introduced himself. “I’m Patrick Wirtz, Delara’s husband and Richie’s boyfriend. You are?”

“Kyra Stamoulis,” she introduced herself after wiping her hands on a towel and shaking his hand. “I just moved to Seacouver from Greece.”

“Welcome to Seacouver and our home.” Patrick smiled broadly and winked at her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to kiss my lovely wife and my charming boyfriend before they think I’ve abandoned them for you.”

“Who are you again?” Delara feigned but returned the kiss Patrick offered her.

“The stray we picked up the other night,” Richie joked, and kissed Patrick.

“No, that’s you,” Patrick joked back.

“Oh, right,” Richie agreed, grinning broadly. “Since you have dry hands, would you put the potatoes back so we can have the counter room?”

“Sure,” Patrick said and did as he was asked. When he returned, he said, “Lily isn’t coming. She sends her apologies but she’s going out with Susan instead.”

“Who’s Susan?” Delara wondered as she dumped chopped onions into a pot to sauté.

Patrick shrugged. “One of Lily’s Goth friends. Something about a concert featuring some hot cellist. I never got into the filk scene, so I have no idea who Pixy and the Magpies are.”

“Pixy and the Magpies?!” Delara exclaimed. “They’re not a filk band, love; they’re one of the hottest alternative rock bands right now.”

Kyra was not into that kind of music, so she shot Patrick a sympathetic smile.

He nodded a slight acknowledgment. “Sorry, love, you know me and that stuff.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Kyra assured him. “My knowledge of American music is limited. If it has a dance beat, though, I’m there.”

Richie chuckled. “I was like that with French dance bands the first few years I was in Paris.”

The Wirtz’s house was narrow but long, constrained by the lot on which the house sat. The kitchen sat at the back of the house, separated from the living room by the dining room. A separate pantry/mudroom connected the kitchen with the garage. To Kyra, who had gotten used to Richie’s modern-meets-vintage décor, the Wirtz house felt more lived-in and less fancy, as if they had inherited furniture from friends and family. Kyra decided she liked it as much as she liked Richie’s choices; she usually rented a furnished apartment and called it good.

Once most dishes were in the ovens and cooking, Delara went upstairs to change. Kyra thought that the jeans and shirt Delara wore were fine, but then Delara pointed out the cooking stains, so Kyra understood. Kyra took the opportunity to change clothes in the guest room and was amused by the collection of sci-fi movie posters in the room.

By six, the house was full of people. Kyra was introduced to Loriann Tansen, the Wirtz’s next-door-neighbor; Riker Williams, a corporate lawyer, and his wife Sharon, an ER nurse; Sean Daniels, a naturalist for the county, and his husband, Gordon, who worked as the chief of volunteers for the Ginsley Museum of Natural Arts and Science. Next to arrive were the expected newcomers, Jeff Rodriguez and his wife, Julie, and their friend, Emily Haller. Jeff and Julie seemed a little too into each other and Emily for a dinner party, making Kyra wonder if Patrick had known about their relationship before inviting them.

“If they moon over each other one more minute, I’m going to gag,” Delara murmured in Arabic to Kyra, making her laugh. In English, however, she directed her attention to Julie, asking her about what she did for work, since Jeff was a new coworker of Patrick’s.

Kyra felt Duncan’s Presence long before she saw him enter. From her position near the dining room, Kyra saw Richie answer the door, even though it was Delara and Patrick’s house, and appreciated his caution. The woman who entered with Duncan, however, was not who Kyra pictured as Duncan’s girlfriend. Kyra thought Duncan preferred blondes like herself. She was not surprised to see that the woman was beautiful, with dark brunette, mid-length wavy hair, a rower’s build, light brown skin, and an oval face. She radiated a vulnerability that tugged at Kyra’s heartstrings and made her wonder why.

Duncan wasted little time in introducing his girlfriend to Kyra. “Vanessa, I’d like you to meet an old friend, Kyra-” he said, then paused as if he couldn’t remember her last name.

“It’s Stamoulis these days,” Kyra said smoothly.

“Ah, yes. Kyra, this is my girlfriend, Vanessa Guajardo Zepeda.”

Vanessa smiled warmly as she shook hands with Kyra. “Duncan told me on the way here you just moved here from Greece. If there’s anything I can do to help you, let me know. I work as a UAV operator for a company that creates drone videos for architects, engineers, and real estate companies, so I’ve learned a lot about the city in the year since I moved here.”

“I’ll remember that,” Kyra agreed. “I’m establishing my commercial security consulting business here.”

“Talk to my boss,” Vanessa offered. “Since we are licensed by the FAA as a commercial drone operator, we sometimes get asked to do surveillance, and there are limitations on what we can do.”

Kyra’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought about drone cameras. I don’t suppose you have a business card?”

Vanessa grinned, her smile lighting her face. “Actually, I do.” She retrieved a card from the wristlet she carried and passed it to Kyra.

Patrick announced dinner. Kyra found herself seated across from Emily Haller, who seemed intimidated by the crowd and abundance of food, and kept wanting to talk to Julie and Jeff instead. Kyra dismissed Emily as pretty but naïve, and suspected the seating arrangement was deliberate, matching the single people. She did not fault Delara or Patrick for that setup; she would have done the same in their shoes. Kyra preferred talking with Loriann, whose ‘my rich husband died, woe is me’ deadpan introduction hid a sharply aware, compassionate nature. Except for the three newcomers, Kyra liked the collection of friends Delara, Patrick, and Richie had assembled for their dinner party, and could easily see herself coming back. Delara assured her that Jeff, Julie, and Emily would not be at the next one. They had spent most of dinner talking amongst themselves, ignoring the others, and left before dessert, claiming they needed to take Emily home.

“To bed,” Loriann had snarked after the door shut behind them, which drew embarrassed laughs from Gordon and Sean.

“I’m glad we’re not the only ones who thought that,” Sean declared.

After the party, Richie took her back home. Kyra waved off his perfunctory offer to stay; she had overheard him assure Delara and Patrick he would be back to stay the night with them.

Alone again, she considered her options. It was only ten pm; the clubs would be just getting started, and she wanted to dance. She changed into leather pants. Her phone, keys, and wallet went into a small purse. The 18th century cutlass she used as her main sword did not lay flat against her back, making it more noticeable in her coat, so she went with her backup sword, a 22.5-inch Athenian cavalry kopis, which fit nicely in the special crossbody sheath in her leather jacket.

She hesitated a moment before crossing the apartment to the master bedroom. If she went out tonight, she would need sexual protection, in case she picked up someone. Telling a prospective lover she hadn’t thought to bring anything ranked as rude in Kyra’s book. For a moment, she thought about texting Richie to ask where to buy such items, but then she realized he would be preoccupied with his lovers. She would just have to let him know what she took, assuming he had the items she wanted.

A quick search of the contents of one of the nightstands in the master bedroom revealed Richie did, indeed, have dental dams and condoms. She took a few of each and stuffed them into the pockets of her jacket; she would replace them when she had more time and money. Googling told her how to get to The Neon Unicorn, the club Richie had mentioned. A review of the club’s prices and a check of her wallet told Kyra she had enough money to get in the door and two drinks if she stuck to what was on tap.

Twenty minutes later, she was inside the club, which was split into two levels – one closer to the dance floor, the other upstairs, for those who wanted to hang out and watch the dancers. Techno beat a heated rhythm, encouraging people to bump and grind on the already crowded dance floor. Kyra waded onto the floor and let herself feel the music. Here, she was anonymous, another stranger on the floor; no one cared who she was. Other immortals were in the bar, but other than making eye contact and acknowledgement, no one approached her. She danced until she was sweaty and tired, and then made her way to the upstairs bar.

Here, the music was quieter. Kyra wiped the sweat off her brow. Stepping to the bar, she ordered and paid for a beer from the bartender, which was delivered promptly. As she sipped her beer, her attention was caught by a woman wearing a sparkling dress. As the stranger approached, Kyra realized the bustier-style dress had a sheer, glitter stars-and-lace overlay on top of a satiny blue fabric. The bustier emphasized her small bust and trim waist even as it showcased her bare shoulders and pale Celtic skin. The skirt of the dress was short enough in the front it skimmed the middle of her thighs. Black thigh-high lace-up boots covered her feet and legs. Looking up, Kyra saw the other woman had a ruthlessly high-boned face, a large nose, and wide lips. Her blackish-brown hair was braided in a crown. Amusement and interest lit her brown eyes. Her makeup and jewelry reflected a Goth sensibility, but the overall look made Kyra think of a dark faerie princess. The high-heeled boots evened their heights, making Kyra think the other woman was actually shorter than Kyra’s five-feet-nine-inch height.

“You’re gorgeous,” Kyra told her. “I bet you get people telling you that you look like a fairy princess come to life all the time.”

The stranger grinned. “And you sound like an English goddess, which can’t be good for me. Pity. Maybe another time.”

“I can be as good as you want me to be,” Kyra countered, stepping closer and stroking her forearm. “Name’s Kyra. Want to get out of here and get better acquainted?”

Admiration at her directness colored the other woman’s face. “Lily. I don’t fuck without protection, even other women. That a problem?”

“No.” Kyra understood the caution, though a part of her wished she could reassure Lily she was safe. “Where would you like to go?”

“Come with me,” Lily told her, and took her hand. She led Kyra to a nearby parking garage and a purple PT Cruiser.

Kyra kissed Lily outside of her car. For a moment, caution held sway over the other woman, but then she opened herself, kissing Kyra back as she gave into the lust.

Wanting not to rush the moment, Kyra took the time to turn the kiss into a promise of more, tempering the heat that flared between them. When she drew back, Lily’s eyes were half-closed and her breathing was rapid.

“Take us home,” Kyra ordered huskily.


	3. Chapter 3

Lily knew she was taking a risk, taking a stranger home, but she wanted this stranger. She felt reckless, especially since she had respected Vanessa’s privacy for the last year and not brought any of her one-night stands home, but something about Kyra made her trust her instinctively. Vanessa was staying the weekend at Duncan’s, and had told Lily she didn’t care if she brought someone home. It felt vaguely freeing to know she wouldn’t have to make excuses and could fuck this stranger in her bed instead of the nearest hotel room or their home.

Kyra kept a hand on Lily’s thigh most of the drive, distracting her with the heat and awareness. To cover her nerves, Lily asked, “What brings an Englishwoman to Seacouver?”

“Old friends and new opportunities,” Kyra told her. “And I’m not English; I’m Greek. I just spent a lot of time in London, working for the royal family. What do you do?”

“I’m a CAD designer for an engineering firm.” Lily held her breath, wondering what her soon-to-be lover thought about that.

“I never was good at drawing,” Kyra admitted with a laugh. “I can’t imagine trying to do it with a computer.”

Lily grinned. “My parents were disappointed I didn’t become an engineer.”

“I was supposed to follow my foster mother’s path,” Kyra admitted. “I wanted to compete and do all the things the men my age were doing.”

Lily laughed. “I was supposed to be the child who made their sacrifices to raise me worth it, like I was a toy they assembled and could present the world as the best thing ever. My aunt basically told them I wasn’t a toy and taught me to embrace doing things for me.”

Kyra reached across the center console and gripped Lily’s hand reassuringly. Appreciation made Lily’s heart skip a beat. “Good for her. Were they upset?”

“They called me a disappointment and some other things,” Lily admitted. “I haven’t talked to them since I left for college.” Wanting to think about less depressing things, she asked, “Have you been in Seacouver long?”

“Counting today? A week,” Kyra told her. “I flew in from Athens on Sunday and looked at offices for my business on Monday.”

“What do you do?”

“Commercial security consulting,” Kyra told her. “I used to guard VIPs.”

“Anyone I’d recognize?”

Kyra chuckled. “Only if you know Greek pop stars and European politicians.”

Lily thought that answer over as she turned towards her townhouse. “No, can’t say I do. Why did you stop?”

“Because I tired of having to guard someone while they were taking a shit,” Kyra admitted freely.

Lily laughed. “Yeah, that would get old.” She pulled into the driveway of her townhouse and activated the garage door. Once it was up, she drove the rest of the way and parked the car, closing the garage door before exiting the vehicle. Kyra stepped out of the car and shut the door gently, surprising Lily by not slamming it.

Lily led the way into the house. The garage door in the house led into the main entry; Lily did not linger on the first floor, but headed for the stairs. Kyra followed, one hand on the small of Lily’s back as if to assure Lily she was still there.

At the top of the stairs was a storage closet. The hallway then split, with the right side leading to the guest bedroom Vanessa had vacated the night before. A laundry closet preceded the guest bedroom. Ignoring them, Lily opened the door to her bedroom. Nerves made her grateful she was in the habit of making her bed and rarely left anything on the floor.

The bed had a black headboard and frame. She had covered it with a Gothic red, black, and white coverlet. A black chandelier hung from the ceiling over the bed. Black nightstands and a matching six-drawer dresser with mirror completed the furniture set. A black-painted vanity with a high-backed chair sat next to the dresser. Lily held her breath; she had lovers who had taken one look at her choices and found reasons to ghost her.

“It suits you,” Kyra told her, drawing her close and kissing her briefly. She stepped back and pulled off her coat, setting it carefully by the door, and pulled out a few packets Lily recognized as dental dam packets. She set the protection on a nightstand, then pulled the chair from the vanity set and put it near the bed. “Come sit; let me get those boots off of you.”

Lily’s eyes widened. She had expected to have to take off her boots herself, preferably after she had gotten her first taste of Kyra. Still, the command intrigued her, so she sat.

Kyra knelt. Her hands found the hidden zippers on the boots. She removed the left boot first, setting the footwear aside, then stroked Lily’s legs and feet, massaging them expertly. Her mouth followed the invisible trail her hands had marked from her ankles upwards, kissing and licking Lily’s calves, knees, and thighs. She repeated her actions with Lily’s right side, deliberately coming close to her underwear line but not crossing it.

Lily’s breath caught, and she whimpered.

Kyra rose and kissed her, then drew her up. She moved the chair back to its original location, tossing off the blouse she wore as she did so, revealing she had worn a plain bra underneath. Uncertain of what her new lover intended, Lily stayed where she was.

Kyra stepped behind her and unzipped the dress, then helped Lily step out of it. Carefully gathering the dress, she then draped it across the chair she had just moved.

“Beautiful,” Kyra pronounced, then kissed Lily. Heat seared across Lily’s senses, and she gave herself willingly to lust. Kyra caressed her, adding to the heat. Every layer of clothing she took off Lily was hallmarked by kisses, licks, and a reverence, as if undressing her was worthy of ceremony. Never in Lily’s life had she ever been with another woman who made her forget about reciprocating; Kyra made her feel cherished and worshipped. By the time Kyra was naked and pressing her to the now-uncovered bed, Lily had only a moment to wonder when that had happened before Kyra was kissing her again.

Kyra paid attention to Lily’s body in a way that clarified she appreciated every part of it. Lily’s nipples ached from the licking and sucking Kyra had given them, and still Lily wanted Kyra to do it again.

“So responsive, sweet Lily. I want to see you ride my tongue,” Kyra praised her, moving to open one of the dental dam packets. She placed it on Lily’s vaginal opening and moved to lick her.

Lily shuddered in pleasure. Even through the thin layer of protection, she could feel Kyra’s tongue. Unable to help herself, she lifted her hips, and felt Kyra encourage her wordlessly to continue to do so. It didn’t take long for Lily to orgasm, but Kyra didn’t seem done, sending her crashing through a second.

“Oh, God, Kyra!” Lily shouted as the pleasure whited out her senses.

Looking pleased, Kyra removed the dental dam and disposed of it in the bathroom trash. She returned to the bed, cuddling Lily close.

It was only when her breathing returned to normal that Lily realized she had not reciprocated her lover’s pleasure. “Let me return the favor,” she suggested.

Kyra grinned. “I’ll never turn that down, but I enjoyed every moment of that.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “You got off on that?”

“I did,” Kyra assured her. “Very much so. Touch me and you’ll see.”

Lily hastily reached for a latex-free glove from the box she kept in the nightstand, but Kyra stopped her. “I want to feel your hands on me, not that. I swear by the gods I’m safe.”

If anyone else had said something like that to her, Lily would have protested, but Lily went with her gut. Needing to touch her new lover, she shifted position so she could reach Kyra’s pussy. Unlike Lily, Kyra had not done a bikini wax, but she had trimmed her blond pubic hair, which Lily appreciated.

Kyra spread her legs to give Lily better access to her inner folds. Experimentally, Lily licked one finger before using it to stroke Kyra, who cocked one eyebrow as if to ask, “That all?”

Taking up the challenge, Lily used two fingers, then three to explore, tease, and torment her new lover with pleasure. Kyra responded with such enthusiasm to every touch, it was as if she was learning to have an orgasm with another woman again – but she never lost her breath, which told Lily she was a conditioned athlete. She also directed Lily, telling her exactly how she liked to be stroked, narrating her pleasure to a degree that turned Lily on with its explicitness. Needing to be closer, Lily hastily put dental dams on them both so they could grind against each other as they tumbled over the cliff of ecstasy.

The rest of the evening passed quickly as they explored passion’s depths together. Lily fell asleep in Kyra’s arms, exhausted but content.

* * *

The ringing of Kyra’s phone woke them in the morning.

Kyra swore as she answered it. Seeing the caller ID, she switched to Arabic, aware Richie spoke it. “I didn’t realize being your houseguest meant you were my lord and keeper,” she snapped, annoyed.

“It doesn’t, but as your newest friend,” Richie answered in the same language, “I care about you. You didn’t leave me a note to say you’d gone out, so my mind went to the worst-case scenario. Do you blame me?”

Kyra sighed, realizing he had a point. “No. Sorry. It didn’t occur to me you’d worry if I didn’t come home. I thought you’d still be with your lovers.”

“I don’t attend church every week like they do,” he countered, “so I came home. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“No,” Kyra said. “I’m not sure where I am, actually. I found someone last night; I’ll ask them to take me back to The Neon Unicorn. I’ll walk back and we can have brunch.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Richie said, sounding relieved. “Watch your head, Kyra.”

The warning made Kyra smile. “Always. I’ll be there soon.”

* * *

Kyra disconnected the line. Lily had not understood the language she had spoken, but she had gotten the sense someone was worried about her.

“Much as I’d like to stay,” Kyra said, kissing her briefly, “I’ve worried a friend. Would you mind taking me back to the club?”

Lily shook her head. “Let me get dressed.” Silently, she told herself it would be too much to ask to have a Greek sex goddess-with-an-English-accent in her life. Goth fairy princesses weren’t ever that lucky. Undoubtedly, the worried friend was a boyfriend or husband, who didn’t mind if their significant other went out clubbing but didn’t know about the SO’s lesbian proclivities. It made Lily wish she didn’t know one-night stands didn’t ask questions, so she didn’t.

She was surprised when, instead of getting out of the car right away when Lily pulled up in front of the club, Kyra turned to her. “I’d like to see you again, Lily. Can I get your number?”

Hope flared into life, but paranoia had her asking, “Is the friend who’s worried about you your other lover?”

Insulted, Kyra stared at her. “No. I don’t play those kinds of games with people. I’ve never cheated on a lover and don’t plan to start now. My friend is someone who’s letting me stay with him while I look for a place to live; he’s more a friend of friends. Lily, please. I’d really like to see you again, get to know you better. One night wasn’t enough for me.”

Lily hesitated. Could her luck be that good? She took a deep breath and rolled the dice. “My number is 555-555-5555,” Lily recited, rattling off the digits as Kyra pulled out her phone and entered them into her contacts list. “And my last name is Walton.”

Kyra leaned over and kissed her. “Thank you, Lily.” She got out of the car and gently shut the door behind her.

Ten minutes later, Lily got a text. _I’m home and missing you already, _Kyra wrote. _I can’t afford much right now, but I can cook. When can I see you again?_

Unwilling to date someone who was broke, Lily texted, _When you’re not looking for a sugar mama._

When silence met her text, Lily crossed off seeing Kyra again and told herself it was for the best. Yet the heartache that filled her at the thought of never seeing Kyra again made Lily wonder if she needed to apologize. She deleted the conversation from her messages list, hoping that action would be enough to make her forget the woman who had graced her bed and made her feel like no one had ever made her feel like before. Kyra was the first lover in years who had taken the time to make Lily feel important, like her pleasure was worth something, and not just the means to a mutual destination. It had made Lily remember what it was to be in love with someone who cared. The last lover Lily had like that had ended the relationship when Lily had refused to sell her house and move in with them, claiming that Lily’s need for independence was a deal breaker. That had been five years ago, and Lily hadn’t bothered with a long-term lover since.

For a moment, Lily was tempted to text Richie, who had connections everywhere. She told herself that was ridiculous; Richie didn’t know everyone in Seacouver, a city of 50,000 people, especially someone who had recently moved to the city.

_No,_ she told herself, _better to put Kyra in the one-night stand category and move on_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want to join the "Oh, Lily, why'd you do that?" club? ;-)


	4. Chapter 4

#### Sunday, September 7

“I’ve guarded other people for a living for a thousand years,” Kyra began as she walked into Richie’s apartment. “I’ve also been taking care of myself for two and a half millennia. Your concern is appreciated but unwarranted.”

Richie crossed his arms. “I’m not going to apologize for caring, Kyra. I don’t care you found a lover last night. This city attracts headhunters, especially this time of year and especially since the word’s gotten out that Mac’s back in the city. I thought I’d use the time this morning to show you where you can go when you need holy ground as sanctuary; a few places aren’t obvious. Also, most of the churches downtown lock their doors after sundown to prevent the homeless from sleeping in the sanctuaries.”

Kyra relented, realizing he had a point. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d care that much so quickly.”

Richie grinned. “You’re important to people I care about, and I like you. Did you want to have brunch at home or downstairs at the pub?”

“If I said downstairs, would you mind paying?” Kyra held up her phone. “My date last night wants to hold my lack of money against me.” Kyra grimaced. “I’ve never been anyone’s sugar mama, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“Well, that sucks, and calls for better beer than I have in my fridge, so I’ll spring for that,” Richie declared, his grin widening. “Shall we head down?”

It didn’t take them long to get to the pub, which offered Sunday brunch specials besides its regular Mediterranean-themed menu. To her surprise, one of her favorite Greek beers was on tap.

“I rarely see it on tap outside of Greece,” she marveled.

Their server pointed to Richie. “He asked if we could bring it in; said the bottled stuff was crap tasting. He was right.”

Kyra stared at Richie, who promptly ordered them a pitcher of it. “How did you know?”

“Don’t know if I mentioned this, but I was Sanctuary’s lead bartender for ten years. Drank a lot of liquor while I was there, sampled a lot of bad shit, learned to drink only the good shit, and only so much of it.” To their amused server, he said, “I’ll take the Club Med breakfast wrap and three pancakes on the side.”

“And for the lady?” their server asked.

“I’ll have the shakshuka with extra pita bread.”

“Do you want to add extra feta cheese?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll get that in for you,” the server promised.

Once he had left, Richie leaned in. “Interested in sparring with me and Duncan later?”

Surprised by that question, Kyra asked, “Not going to ask me who my date was last night?”

“You told me once you don’t kiss and tell, so asking you will only frustrate me,” he pointed out with a slight raising of his shoulders. “Am I dying of curiosity? Absolutely.”

Kyra chuckled at that. “Will it help if I admit to wanting to ignore her jab about money?”

Richie grinned. “Yes. If you’re like Duncan, you have more than enough to live without a job; you’d rather stay busy.”

Nodding, Kyra said, “I’ll text her tomorrow; I don’t want to sound too eager.”

“Or desperate,” Richie nodded. “Past two or three days, she’ll assume you’ve ghosted her.”

Kyra grimaced. “Well, that’s not something I intend on doing.” She paused. “How did you, Delara, and Patrick meet?”

“Through one of their friends, who did the computer setup for the dojo. You just missed his end-of-summer blowout party.”

“Maybe next year.” Kyra smiled. “How come you don’t attend church with Delara and Patrick?”

Richie shrugged. “I’m not convinced one religion has all the answers. You’re old enough to believe in a goddess most people have fallen away from worshipping.”

“She still has followers,” Kyra felt compelled to point out.

“Which only proves my point,” Richie countered. “My opinion would be different if I hadn’t gotten exposed to people who use their faith as a blanket excuse to do shit. Doesn’t mean I don’t respect what makes holy ground holy; just means if the deity or entity it belongs to doesn’t care if I know their names, I’m okay leaving it as it was when I stepped on it.”

Concerned, Kyra leaned in. “Doesn’t that make you more vulnerable to certain…magicks, lacking a better word?”

Richie looked at her, startled. “How’d you – oh, right, you’re old enough and experienced enough to know. Yes, but Connor taught me how to shield against them. Did you ever hear of a Japanese immortal named Nakano?”

Relieved by that, Kyra leaned back. “Yes. He was a sorcerer, and a friend of his wanted me to guard him, but Nakano told him no. Said I did not yet have the shields to defend him. It drove me to learn what he meant. He sent a student of his to teach me.” She studied Richie. “Something tells me you didn’t have that luxury.”

“No. It’s a long story, and I’d rather focus on other things, like what we’re doing after I’ve given you an introduction to the local attractions only our kind would be interested in. Like I said earlier, I usually spar against Duncan on Sunday afternoons. You’re welcome to join us.”

Kyra gave him points on his memory and discretion. “He’s seen me fight,” she mused, “but I’ve never sparred against him.”

“I can’t spar against him without an audience,” Richie admitted as their server arrived with the beer pitcher and two glasses.

Startled by that admission, Kyra waited until after their server poured their first glasses of beer and left before speaking again. “How come?”

Richie took a sip of his beer before he answered. “Because in 1995, he took a Dark Quickening and tried to take my head. It broke my faith in him, and we didn’t reconcile until a year later. By then, I’d killed a few of his friends, headhunting, and it’s left a mark on our friendship.”

Kyra winced. “I’m sorry. I lost one student to a Dark Quickening. She’s the reason I quit taking on students. It hurt too much when I couldn’t save her and had to figure out how to take her head without being affected by her darkness.”

Richie nodded grimly.

Kyra sipped her beer before she asked, “What made you reconcile?”

“Realizing he still cared about saving my ass from trouble,” Richie admitted with a rueful smile. “Even if it meant taking a challenge meant for me and claiming he had a prior grudge. I still think that was a hell of a flimsy excuse, mind.”

Kyra laughed. “But it worked,” she pointed out as their server returned with their meals. “But that does help explain why you weren’t in Paris when I showed up at his barge.”

Richie nodded and thanked their server, who left promptly. “I needed a break before I told him something that would ruin our friendship, so I left. Told him I’d see him in Seacouver or Paris, whichever city came first, since he had been in the habit of wintering in Paris. I came back to Seacouver long enough to meet the woman for whom he’d later move to Australia and kept wandering until I got sick of it and moved to Paris. Mac came by Sanctuary two years ago at Christmas, met my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, and asked me if I’d be willing to run a new dojo with him in Seacouver, since it had been twenty-plus years since I’d helped him run a business. He thought we were overdue for a proper reconciliation.”

Fascinated, Kyra took a bite of her breakfast. “Did you tell him you already had one?”

Richie chuckled. “Yes, and he said, ‘yes, but that was before you had a reputation for successfully running a business. I’d like to get to know you as a fellow businessman.’”

“Has it worked?”

“So far,” Richie nodded, leaning back. “But it’s taken me a year to convince him that while I enjoy sparring against him weekly, I don’t need training. I love to learn from him, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t forget my first five years as an immortal sucked ass, and some of it was purely his fault.”

Kyra considered that information. “And you need a spotter because both of you are afraid to push each other too far, however you define too far.”

Richie nodded again. “I’ve been trying to channel my anger, so I don’t take it out on him. He’s afraid I’ll freak out if his blade comes too close to my neck.”

“And will you?”

“Not as much as I would have a year ago,” Richie admitted. “Sparring against him every week has helped, but there are moments–” He shook his head. “Well, let’s just say I’m glad he’s not the only teacher I’ve ever had.”

“Then I’d be happy to spar with both of you,” Kyra declared. “And give you someone else to spar against that won’t trigger bad memories.”

Richie smiled in relief. “Do you have a deadline for opening your business?”

Kyra nodded. “Because of the visa I obtained, I have to show my business is contributing to the local economy and is a new, profitable business. Did you help MacLeod with setting up the dojo?”

“Which is why I asked,” Richie said. He ate a bite of his breakfast wrap. “You’ll want to talk to our lawyer, make sure you have all the paperwork in order, because it might take you a while to show a profit.”

Kyra grimaced. “Yeah, I was hoping you or him would be able to help me with that. Do you have any suggestions for office space?”

“You can rent temporary workspace in the WorkLofts building; it’s shared workspace with some cool amenities. One of my friends works remotely for a company in Colorado, and she’s always using their facility.”

Kyra frowned. “What about security and privacy?”

“Depends on how much you’re willing to shell out. Madison has to have a dedicated network line, so she pays more for a private cubicle but says the tradeoff of not working at home is worth it.”

“Huh. I’ve heard about shared workspaces, but I never looked into it.”

“The WorkLofts building is eight blocks northwest of here,” Richie told her. “And they aren’t the only ones in the city who rent coworking space, but they’re the closest to here I know.”

“I’ll have to check them out,” Kyra murmured and took a sip of beer. “I was fixated on the more traditional approach of finding office space.”

Richie shrugged. “To me, that seems more practical if you’re more than yourself. If you’re the business, do you need more than a working phone, reliable and fast internet access, a laptop, and somewhere private to conduct business?”

Kyra chuckled ruefully. “No, but I didn’t want to run my business out of a coffee shop.”

“I did say private, didn’t I? No way a coffee shop is private.”

Kyra acknowledged that by raising her glass. “Too true.”

* * *

Much to Kyra’s delight, one of the less-obvious places of holy ground was in a nearby city park with a statue of Artemis. She felt her goddess’s welcome when she stepped close and bowed her head.

“I love this city,” Kyra murmured, basking in the sanctuary. Someone had taken the time to care for the old goddess, offering deer-shaped cookies and raw honeycomb on the natural altar formed by the platform on which the statue sat.

Richie grinned as he kept a respectful distance and let Kyra take her fill.

Kyra said a few words of prayer, thanking the goddess for her blessings, before she felt the urge to leave the park.

“Thought you might want that, when you said you used to be a priestess,” Richie said as they made their way out of the park.

“Thank you. I needed that and didn’t know I did. Are the other places as easy to find?”

Richie shook his head. “I’ll have to show you on a map and take you there. Much as I’d love to do that, we need to be at the dojo in an hour. From here, the dojo is a twenty-minute ride, and there are a few things I want to bring with me so if it gets stabbed full of holes, I have something to change into.”

“Then we can go over them this week; it’ll be better if I don’t try to memorize it all in one day.”

Nodding, Richie led the rest of the way back to his condo.

* * *

Duncan waited for them in the dojo. He hugged Kyra before telling her, “I’ve always wanted to spar against you, but I figured you’d kick my ass if I asked.”

Kyra laughed. “Maybe that first time we met. You weren’t helping me.”

“Didn’t look like you needed it,” he said blandly.

She fought with her kopis, wanting the practice, and found Duncan to be as skilled as rumor had led him to be. She was no slouch with a sword, being older and more experienced, but he had her reaching for defenses and attacks she had rarely used against another immortal. It was glorious and she loved every minute.

When it was over, Duncan was on his knees, looking surprised she had gotten him there. “How did you do that?” he asked, astonished. “That shouldn’t have worked!”

“You were expecting me to flinch like most women,” she countered, sheathing her sword, and offering him a hand up. “You forget, I’m not most women.”

Richie applauded. “About time you learned that, don’t you think, Mac?”

“You’re next,” Duncan threatened, stepping to the sidelines so Richie could fight.

“Not worried,” Richie countered, taking position. “But if you wanted to take it easy on me, Kyra, I wouldn’t say no.”

Kyra laughed and attacked. She held back, expecting an immortal who had been in the Game two decades to have some skill but not necessarily the more advanced techniques she had learned. Richie surprised her, proving why he was a student of the MacLeods, and an immortal worthy of a reputation separate from that legacy. Almost too late, she recognized a trap – one of her favorites – and had to quickly switch hands to counter the attack on her left side.

“Sneaky,” Richie told her, admiring the move as he considered his next. “But what else has the gods gifted you with?” he sneered.

“Talent and tenacity,” she shot back, realizing he fought with words as well as his broadsword rapier. Though she fought hard, Richie bested her, taking her down with a counter to an attack she had tried on Duncan earlier.

“Didn’t think you’d remember that,” she said, grimacing as his well-timed strike cut through her right shoulder, effectively ending the fight.

Richie shrugged even as he sheathed his sword and stepped closer so he could hold her shoulder to help it knit together faster. “I learned to memorize everything when I was a kid,” he admitted. “Makes things harder to forget.” He took a deep breath, pointedly not looking at Duncan. Seeing that her Quickening had healed her shoulder, he stepped back, wiping his blood-stained hands on a towel he picked up from a chair on the sidelines. “Which brings me to the next thing we need to tell you, and it’s not Seacouver-specific. Mac, you want to do this?”

Duncan nodded. “Sit down for this, Kyra.”

Once they were seated, Duncan told her about the Watchers, what they did, their oath, and what they received for the risks they took to document immortals. Richie added clarifying information as he felt appropriate; both answered all her questions with a patience that never felt patronizing.

“And no one’s ever used their database, their library, against them?” Kyra demanded, shocked.

“I wish no, but we’d be lying,” Duncan told her. “They tried to hang both me and my Watcher for deaths caused by the release of their existence.”

Kyra grimaced, hating it had come to that point. “And no one’s burned the place down yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve been tempted,” Duncan half-laughed. “But then I think about how having people who care about my history, who know me and my friends, is better than some stranger who thinks we’re fascinating animals in a world zoo. People who I know and care about, who think my life, my history, the battles I fight, matter, not because it’s changing the world, but because they think I matter.”

“I don’t pretend to be important,” Richie noted softly, “but if I died tomorrow, at least I know someone other than Duncan and my lovers has my story and the reasons I fight written down somewhere.”

Kyra considered what they had told her. It made sense – people had always been recording history, either through oral stories passed down through the generations or in written form. Immortal history had to be full of holes; without thinking too hard, she knew of a dozen immortals who had died with no one else knowing of their deaths. As a security expert, she knew the chances of hiding immortality forever were slim.

“I’d be curious to know if they know of the immortals I know,” she said.

“We can ask,” Duncan offered. “If they’re dead, it’s usually not a problem for our Watchers to check. There are things they can’t tell us – like how another immortal fights, for example.”

“They’re not supposed to directly influence the Game,” Richie added. “It goes against their oath.”

“That explains a few people I’ve known,” Kyra murmured, thinking of Marjorie Brubeck, who had been the administrative assistant at the security firm that had assigned her to Judge Richard Albright. Marjorie had always seemed interested in Kyra’s life, and Kyra had dismissed her as too deeply invested in her work relationships. “Are you friends with any of your Watchers?”

“Both, actually,” Richie admitted. “And they usually watch us spar, but we thought you might not take kindly to them if they were here.”

“I’m more friends with Joe than Genevieve, Richie’s Watcher,” Duncan said. “But I know there have been times Genevieve has substituted for Joe, since there have been places he can’t go.”

Kyra looked at Duncan, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Joe is a double-leg amputee, courtesy of a landmine in Vietnam,” Duncan told her. “I’ve been able to convince him to get better healthcare than what he can get through the VA, which means he’s using advanced protheses, but even with those, he’s less likely to go stepping through a muddy field.”

“Got it. What does he do for a living if what the Watchers pay him is a pittance for the danger he’s risking?”

“He owns the city’s best blues bar,” Duncan said. “I’d say let’s go there tonight, but he has a big-name singer playing.”

“Then we can do that later,” Kyra said. “Do you know who started the organization?”

“Joe told me it was started by Ammaletu the Akkadian after he saw the immortal Gilgamesh come back to life.”

Kyra’s eyes widened and she swore viciously. “That explains a lot.”

“Someone wrote about you and you didn’t like it?” Duncan asked.

“Do they have a distinctive trefoil tattoo?” Kyra asked.

“Yes.” Richie and Duncan exchanged worried glances.

“Fuck. That means one of my husbands was one. I bought his excuse that he was writing a fictionalized account of some of my life. He never published any of it, and I always wondered why. He always foisted me off with some excuse about it not being good enough.”

Richie winced. “I had to kick one of them out of my bed in Paris; she had that tattoo on the inside of her thigh. I don’t mind them writing about my life, but sex feels way too intimate.”

“We were married for twenty-two years. Damn it.”

Duncan touched her arm reassuringly. “You wouldn’t be this upset if you hadn’t loved him.”

“Yeah, well, I buried Michael with all those damn journals. The cemetery told me some bullshit excuse about irrigation pipes bursting as to why they had to dig him up again, but I couldn’t prove why I thought it was a bullshit excuse.” Kyra paced angrily. “They wanted my life as he’d written it.”

“How long ago was it?” Duncan asked.

Kyra took a deep breath. “Oh, that was – 1971.” She chuckled at the memory. “He convinced me I should have a job as the head of corporate security for a manufacturing plant so we wouldn’t have to keep moving. He died of a brain tumor two weeks after we moved. Doctor told me that was probably why Michael wanted me to stay in one place; the tumor was causing him to have vertigo.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kyra waved off the sympathy. “I’ll process how I feel about all that later.”

“But in this moment, how do you feel?” Duncan asked, worried.

Kyra took a moment to consider. “Mostly relieved my instincts that something wasn’t as it seemed were right. I just wish Michael would have told me, but I can see where he considered it a ‘work secret,’ just like the work secrets I’ve kept. It’s hard to feel outrage over that kind of practice in that context.”

“And if you met our Watchers, or yours?”

“It would be harder to see them as interlopers or spies,” Kyra acknowledged. “And I’m not sure how open I’d be with them. How do you do it?”

“I tried to draw lines between us,” Duncan told her. “It didn’t work. We kept having situations where we had to choose between allowing a friend to be hurt or upholding our principles about protecting those we cared about, and it blurred the lines. I couldn’t stand by and watch Joe get hurt; he couldn’t stand by and not try to save me, Richie, Amanda, or another immortal friend of ours.”

“Wouldn’t it be better not to be his friend?”

“Maybe,” Duncan allowed, “but that ship sailed two decades ago. If you don’t want to know who your Watcher is, that’s your choice, and Joe or Genevieve will let their bosses know.”

“No, I’d rather not have to constantly be searching a room for who doesn’t fit,” Kyra said, shaking her head. “Knowing who it is – even if we don’t become close – would be one less concern for me. I’d know why they were there.”

“I’ll pass that info on to Joe,” Duncan promised.

“Appreciate it. For now, though – I’d like to see you two spar, and see if I can help you.”

Looking relieved, Richie and Duncan moved to the sparring area to fight.

By the time she climbed aboard Richie’s motorcycle for the ride back to his condo, Kyra was exhausted. It had been a long time since she had fought another immortal with no intent to permanently kill them. She had forgotten how freeing the experience was, to know she was among friends, trusted, and appreciated for her skill.

It wasn’t until she was getting ready for bed and went to turn off her phone she remembered her lover from the night before. Maybe it would be better to ghost Lily now, before she had to reveal her immortality, a voice in Kyra’s head argued. Not everyone would be as accepting as Delara and Patrick. Yet Kyra was intrigued. She had a weakness for women who were strong, confident, and who hid a broken heart under the veneer of being noticeable. It activated all Kyra’s protective instincts, made her want to show that woman how love – supportive, nurturing, and sustaining – could be.

_Tomorrow,_ Kyra promised herself, _I’ll text her and see if she’ll accept my reasons for wanting to cook at home._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits have been made to Chapter 4 to expand it; I realized it lacked some details.

#### Monday, September 8

Vanessa sat nervously at the breakfast bar in Lily’s townhouse, waiting for her best friend to finish making her usual breakfast smoothie. When the blender finished and she had poured the contents into a glass, Lily took a sip and turned to her.

“Either you’re pregnant or you’re about to tell me my dress is horrible,” Lily deduced.

Vanessa barked a laugh. “No, I like it.”

All Lily Walton’s life, she had been told she looked like a fairy statue come to life. Her high-boned face, pale Celtic-heritage skin, long blackish-brown hair, and slender frame combined to make that otherworldly impression. She had learned early to embrace the label of ‘fairy,’ and called herself a fairy Goth. Lace, bohemian prints, scarves that fluttered with movement, skull earrings, and black boots were trademark items in her wardrobe. Today’s dress was a three-quarter sleeve autumnal print, paired with an orange scarf, and conceded the fact she had a job as a CAD designer and couldn’t wear her more Goth-styled clothes to work.

“So now that we’ve settled it’s not me,” Lily said, sipping her smoothie, “and I heard from Richie that immortals can’t have biological children, what is it you’re nervous about?”

Vanessa took a deep breath. “Duncan asked me to move in with him. I told him I needed to check with you because I wasn’t sure if I was helping you with your mortgage or not.”

Lily appreciated her friend’s concern. “Well, I can’t say it didn’t hurt, but given I bought this place when I wasn’t making as much money as I do now: no, I’m not reliant on the rent you’ve been paying me. When do you want to move?”

“Friday night? Duncan gave me keys to his house so I can basically move my stuff anytime, since it’s mostly clothes.”

“Not a problem,” Lily assured her. “Though I’m going to miss having someone to come home and talk to in the evenings.”

“That just means you need someone,” Vanessa countered, moving to put her coffee cup in the dishwasher. “Didn’t you see someone pretty at the club Saturday night?”

Lily sighed dreamily. “She looked and sounded like an English goddess,” she said, remembering.

“And did you take her home, since I wasn’t here?”

Lily favored her best friend with a look.

Undeterred, Vanessa countered it with a look of her own. “Come on, she must’ve made you happy, at least for a while.”

“Yeah, she did. But she’s broke and I’m not putting up with that shit anymore.”

“And what if your lover lost their job?”

“That’s different,” Lily argued. “Then it would be something we’d go through together.”

Vanessa sighed in frustration. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Would you date Duncan if he was poor?”

“Yes,” Vanessa countered flatly. “I don’t need my lover’s money, Lily. Sure, it’s nice to eat at fine dining restaurants and not worry about the bill, but I lived most of my life not eating in them. He’s a good cook, too, and he’s been encouraging me to learn so we can cook together. If he lost his fortune tomorrow, I’m certain we would find a way to get through it.”

“Financial stability matters to me,” Lily insisted. “I don’t want to be anyone’s sugar mama. Look at how much money Scott stole from you.”

Vanessa made a face at the reminder of her ex-boyfriend and changed tactics. “I worry about you, Lily. All those one-night stands won’t ever know how fiercely protective you are of your friends or how much you’ve overcome to succeed. You have more to offer than your body. Look, I may have been a little distracted by grief and shock the last few weeks, but it hasn’t escaped my notice you keep looking wistfully at what I have with Duncan or what Richie has with Delara and Patrick. You’re forty-two years old, Lily, same age as me. Shouldn’t someone love and support you wholeheartedly?”

“I have you,” Lily replied stubbornly.

“But I can’t be your lover,” Vanessa reminded her, “even if I was inclined that way.”

Lily sighed, hating that her best friend had a point. “Shouldn’t we get to work before we’re late?”

Vanessa smiled and picked up the company-logo-emblazoned backpack that held her purse. “That’s a yes and you know it, Lily.”

Lily flipped her off. “Just because you’re happy doesn’t mean you get to matchmake for me.”

“Noted, but tell Delara, Patrick, and Richie that. They were disappointed you weren’t at dinner Saturday night.” Vanessa paused and headed for the door before turning. “By chance, that English goddess wasn’t blonde, about my height, and wearing a black motorcycle leather jacket, did she?”

Lily’s eyes widened. “Kyra was there? Damn it. That means she has their seal of approval. Maybe I’ve been too hasty.”

Vanessa only smiled and exited, calling out, “Gotta run, going to be late for the bus!”

Lily swore, aware her friend had timed that deliberately. Shaking her head, she finished her smoothie, cleaned out the blender, and went to work.

Right before lunch, Lily got a text.

_I don’t know where you got that I’m looking for a sugar mama,_ Kyra wrote. _I like to cook. I’m from a culture where food is part of expressing your love for friends, lovers, and family. If you’d rather go out to eat, I’m still learning the city, and would love to explore it with you. I want to know you, Lily Walton, not just your body. Whoever broke your heart isn’t me. Please give me a chance to show you how I care for my lover._

Lily hesitated before she replied, _Were you at Delara and Patrick Wirtz’s house Saturday night?_

_Yes. Do you know them?_

_Yes, _Lily wrote. _I worked with Patrick two years ago; when I left, we stayed friends._ _Have you known them long?_

_No, I only met them Saturday. _Kyra wrote, _If you don’t want to see me, please tell me. I do not want to push you, but you have been on my mind. I want to be a source of joy for you._

Lily’s eyes widened at that. Where did someone like Kyra come from? she wondered. Never had anyone claim they wanted to be a ‘source of joy’ for Lily. She was used to cruder words, suggestions for hookups from one-night lovers, but this – this was a new level.

At lunch, she called Patrick. “Hope I’m not interrupting your lunch too much, but I have a question. Vanessa said you had a new dinner guest, a blonde Englishwoman named Kyra?”

“Hi, Lily,” Patrick said evenly. “Yes, Kyra Stamoulis was at dinner. Did you enjoy your concert with Susan?”

“It was over way too early – they were only the opening act and Susan didn’t want to stick around for the main artist, so I went to the Neon Unicorn. Do you know anything more about Kyra?”

“She’s a good sous chef – she helped with dinner. Even made this amazing flatbread that was fancier than Delara would’ve done, but it was delicious. Hey, sorry, but I have to cut this call short – I’m late to a meeting.” Without waiting for Lily’s reply, Patrick disconnected the line.

Lily narrowed her eyes. Patrick was a former coworker turned friend. In the three-and-a-half years they had known each other, Lily had learned he rarely hid information from her. When he did, it was important – like admitting he was polyamorous, bisexual, and knew about immortality. That told Lily that whoever Kyra was, she mattered somehow.

As she drove to work, Lily pondered her next move. Delara and Patrick’s next dinner party was scheduled for Friday night; it would be easy enough to wrangle an invite. Though Delara and Patrick held weekly dinner parties, the first one of every month was always on a Saturday so Richie could attend them, since he worked Friday nights at the dojo.

_That,_ Lily told herself, _must do._ Then she remembered Friday night was when Vanessa was moving out, which meant she would have to make sure Vanessa took everything, and then do cleanup, and realized she wouldn’t, realistically, make it to dinner. The rest of the week didn’t look good, either, since Lily attended yoga classes on Tuesday and Thursday nights, and Wednesday was her night to work late so she could leave early on Fridays.

Biting her lip and hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, she called Kyra_._

“Hello, Lily,” Kyra greeted warmly.

“What do you want from me?” Lily demanded.

“You, as you want to give yourself. I’d prefer if we became friends and lovers, since it’s better that way.”

Lily closed her eyes, hearing the sincerity in Kyra’s voice. Opening them, she offered, “I’m not looking for a long-term relationship. I just want a lover who won’t complicate things.”

A small silence fell. “Complicate things how, Lily?” Concern mingled with curiosity, and the timbre of Kyra’s voice made Lily almost wish she didn’t have to explain.

“I’m not selling my house, moving, or giving up my career. I’m not going to stop dressing as a fairy Goth or being amused by the fact people tell me I look like a fairy princess. I’d rather be amused than annoyed or pissed off. I’m not going to change just because you want me to. Also, I’m not going to match in any damn parades to support your causes, whatever the hell they are, even if I support them. My money isn’t going to support you any more than what’s reasonable for going out when both people are working. If you’re broke, I’m not interested. Sorry.”

“I see,” Kyra said. “I wouldn’t ask you to change who you are, Lily. I also wouldn’t ask you give up any of what you’ve achieved, without having a reason that isn’t all about my self-interest.” Annoyance laced her voices as she added, “I don’t know who the hell broke your heart, but I haven’t yet. I’d prefer if you didn’t paint me with the same brush as that idiot. As for money – I’m moving a corporate security consulting business from Greece, and the US government made me prove I’m financially solvent before they granted me a visa. I may not have a lot to spare but I’m not looking for a ‘sugar mama.’” Disdain coated Kyra’s voice as she repeated the phrase. “Does that change your opinion of me?”

Lily’s breath caught as she realized she had miscalculated. “I’m sorry I made that assumption; I was wrong. But I’m still not interested in more than sex.”

Sounding disappointed, Kyra replied, “I’m not going to ask for more than you’re willing to give, Lily, so I’ll respect you and I are looking for different things. Thanks for calling me.”

Kyra disconnected the call. Lily stared at her phone and wondered why she felt like she had just made a mistake. Telling herself she was being unrealistic, Lily forced herself to focus on work.

* * *

Across town, Kyra shook her head as she reviewed the conversation. _Oh well. Better I focus on getting my business off the ground, so the US government doesn’t have reasons to look too closely at my identification._

With that thought in mind, she looked up how to get to the WorkLofts building. Even if her bank account was currently empty, it wouldn’t hurt to do some research.

#### Tuesday, September 9

Kyra was not sure what to expect when Richie invited her to go running with him on a nearby jogging trail, the Canal Street Loop, but it was not a well-marked path that ran through downtown and along the shipping canal that connected the two lakes that divided Seacouver into north and south, Lake Breton and Windy Lake, with Puget Sound. The trail was three miles long, with varied terrain, which Kyra appreciated.

“Do you run every morning?” Kyra asked as she kept pace with the younger immortal.

“Every morning except Sundays,” Richie told her, grinning. “Mac and I sometimes meet up and do the longer Windy Lake Trail, which goes around Windy Lake. It’s how he met Vanessa.”

“You two seem to have a good relationship.”

“It’s not been without challenges, and I mean that both figuratively and literally.”

Kyra laughed. “Given what you told me over the weekend, I can see that. I’ve trained a few other immortals, but none of them have survived.”

“That must be difficult.”

“It’s one of the reasons I wanted to move here,” Kyra admitted. “When you spend your life guarding other people, you become guarded as well. You live your life out of suitcases and furnished apartments. I’d like to settle down and make a life again.”

“When’s the last time you did that?”

“Spent a decade with a judge, who had this amazing sense of fairness and compassion. He was murdered by an immortal, who was a war criminal. That was in 1998.”

“I’m sorry. When I died the first time, the same mugger killed Tessa, Mac’s girlfriend of thirteen years, and then shot me. There were a few days where he couldn’t look at me without remembering her.”

Kyra winced. “That would be rougher. I just lost my memory for a while. MacLeod had to help jog it.” She paused. “How long ago was that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“1993,” Richie said. “Next month it’ll be twenty-seven years.”

Kyra flashed him a smile. “I can tell you’re young; you’re still thinking in decades.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be comfortable thinking in centuries for a while yet,” Richie admitted with a laugh. “My birthday is on the twentieth and I have to remind myself I’ll be forty-six. But to get back to your point – yeah, Mac’s a good friend, and I respect him a lot. Why do you ask?”

“Because he and I were lovers.”

“And?” Richie glanced at her but kept running.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Kyra, I’d be more surprised if you weren’t an ex-lover. You don’t act like you two had any sort of grand affair, so I’m thinking – one-night stand, maybe a bit longer, once or twice?” He shrugged even as she acknowledged his accuracy with a nod. “Not that it’s any of my business. You hurt him, my lovers, Joe, Genevieve, or Vanessa, then maybe you and I will need to discuss things.”

Kyra smiled ruefully. “I begin to see why you’re his dojo’s business manager; you’re sharper than you look. I just – I was worried I might have come across as being desperate, and then I met Vanessa and–“

“She looks like someone you just want to hug and comfort?” Richie finished.

“Yes. You mean she’s like that with everyone?”

“At the moment, yeah. We had to reveal immortality to her because her ex-boyfriend was stalking her, and he was one of us. Her former nanny died two and half weeks ago. Sasha was more a mother to Vanessa than her mother, so it’s been a rough summer.”

Kyra winced. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want me in my house if my girlfriend was emotionally compromised.”

“For what it’s worth, she likes you. She asked me if I had met you before.”

Kyra chuckled. “Does she assume you know every immortal?”

“Probably,” Richie shrugged, “but as you know, Sanctuary’s holy ground. Ten years of working there means I’ve met most of the European-based immortals plus some.”

Nodding, Kyra replied, “I can see that. How did you manage the challenges?”

“Nick, Amanda’s partner, is an ex-detective. He started keeping track of the patterns, so we weren’t trapped in the building and could actually enjoy the city. As I mentioned on Sunday, Seacouver’s busier with headhunters this time of year.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kyra noted. “I’m not defenseless.” Her tone came out sharply as she automatically defended her honor and skill.

“I didn’t say you were,” Richie replied evenly. “If you’ve lived two-and-a half millennia as a soldier and a bodyguard, you could teach me a thing or two about defense. Besides, hello, I just fought against you two days ago. I know you can fight and fight well. I only mention it because I would be remiss as a friend if I didn’t.”

“Sorry,” Kyra apologized. “I just–”

“Assume I’m like every other guy you’ve ever met?” Richie asked dryly. “I may be a student of the MacLeods, but I don’t assume you’re a helpless female. If anything, I assume you’re more likely to kill me.”

“What?!? Why?” Horrified, Kyra looked at Richie.

“Because the list of immortal women who’ve tried to kill me is longer than those who haven’t.”

Kyra groaned. It was too easy to picture how she could take advantage of Richie’s cheerful, easygoing nature, and use his charm and obvious love of people against him. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I don’t want your head?”

Richie chuckled. “Same goes. Did you want to get breakfast on the way back or did you want to cook?”

“Rather shower and then eat at home. I don’t feel like dealing with the stares from people this morning or the ‘lovely accent you have’ comments.”

“We could always talk in Arabic,” Richie teased her.

Kyra slanted a look at him. “Which MacLeod was your teacher?”

Richie laughed. “Both, eventually, but Mac was first. I actually saw both of them fighting another immortal and got a little too curious for my own good. Connor told me if he hadn’t been hunting an immortal who was causing trouble for his wife, he would have taken me home instead of convincing Mac to take me in and teach me.”

Kyra groaned. “Now I understand why you’re dating two people. One person would not be able to keep you from getting into trouble.”

Richie grinned. “Took me about a decade to figure it out, honestly. I always felt like something was missing, even if I was committed to that person.”

“I couldn’t do it long-term, though I’ve tried,” Kyra admitted. “It was difficult enough to hide my interest in women, and forget about admitting bisexuality.”

“I can imagine. I’m old enough to remember when coming out as gay was a big deal for any celebrity, and they risked their careers to do so. Us normal folk didn’t have the cushion of money and fame if we outed ourselves.”

Kyra nodded in agreement, and a comfortable silence fell as they continued their run. They slowed their steps as they approached the end of the trail. Kyra checked her watch, pleased at their pace. She was not out of breath, but the trail had challenged her. Together, they went through some cool-down stretches, then walked the five blocks to Richie’s condo.

As they entered the condo, Richie’s phone buzzed. Kyra heard him greet the caller with, “Hey, Lily, what’s up?” as she turned right towards the guest room. Figuring it was a friend, she did not pay further attention, intent on showering before breakfast.

* * *

“Is it true Vanessa’s moving in with Duncan?” Lily demanded.

“Yes.” Richie shook his head, forgetting Lily couldn’t see him. “Mac wants her home.”

“So he can wrap her up and make her forget how to stand on her own two feet?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?”

“I can drive to work and talk, you know.”

Richie sighed, aware that as much as Lily believed in the paranormal, she was equally suspicious of people, and protective of those she considered friend. “Lily, Mac won’t do that to any woman he loves. If anything, he’ll be the guy proud to stand behind her and let her take the spotlight. I’ve watched him do it with two girlfriends. From what I heard, he did that to his last girlfriend, too. Only in her case, she wasn’t satisfied with that. Molly wanted him to magically read her mind and know she wanted kids, marriage, and no threat of immortality – all things they’d discussed before changing their relationship from friends to lovers.” Richie paused. “Mac was so hurt by the accusations Molly leveled at him, he went home to Glenfinnan and hid out until Connor made him leave and face reality.”

“How long was he and Molly together?”

“Twelve years, ten of it as lovers.”

“Yeah, that would make me not want to face the world,” Lily decided after a moment. “But was she independently successful?”

“Yes. Turned out what she wanted was a guy who wanted her to be mom and give up her career. I only met her briefly, before they were lovers, and I thought she was nice.”

“But you didn’t trust her.”

Richie let out a breath. “Not entirely, no. I figured it was just a case of me wanting to see someone different with Mac. For what it’s worth, Lily, I’m glad Vanessa’s moving in with him. It tells me she’s in the right headspace to do it, because if I know Mac, he would have asked her to move in as soon as Scott was dead.”

“Yeah, I’ve always admired her ability to have the most devastating thing happen to her and find a way to reconcile her feelings about it that winds up making her seem more solid than before. It takes her a while to get there, but once she’s committed, she never wavers.” Lily sighed. “I guess I just needed to hear someone else confirm that for me.”

“Confirmed,” Richie agreed in his best TV announcer voice.

Lily laughed. “Thanks, Richie.” She disconnected the line without saying goodbye.

Moving to his bedroom, he set his phone on the nightstand before going to take a shower. Once he was clean, he changed into jeans and a three-quarter-sleeve t-shirt. He stepped out to the kitchen in time to see Kyra had already started scrambling eggs.

“Who was that?” Kyra wondered.

“Vanessa’s best friend, Lily,” Richie said. “She’s one of the most pragmatic, paranoid, and paranormal-loving people I know.”

Kyra parsed that sentence and her eyes widened. “I’d love to meet her,” she told Richie. “She sounds like my kind of woman.” For a moment, she wondered if Lily was the same woman she had slept with on Saturday night, then dismissed it as being too much coincidence. It didn’t matter anyway; she needed to focus on straightening out her bank account and setting up her business. Realistically, she did not have the time to focus on a lover. As intriguing as Lily Walton had been, it was better that Kyra knew what she wanted now, rather than try to make something work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on this, but my usual weekend posting is going to be delayed, as I am fighting con crud from an industry convention. Please send virtual chicken soup and suggestions on where to take this next! Thanks! - Raine, 11/23/19


	6. Chapter 6

#### Wednesday, September 16

“Thanks for inviting me, Delara,” Kyra said as they walked out of the barre3 studio to the bus stop. “That was a lot harder than I was expecting.”

Delara grinned. “Glad you could join me. I tried to get Vanessa to join me, but she’d rather spend the time on a rowing machine or running.”

“It’s definitely a workout,” Kyra agreed. “Richie said you do barre3 three times a week?”

Delara nodded. “This studio is out of the way for you, but I tried the one downtown and it just seemed less welcoming to someone like me.”

Kyra studied her, hearing a note of disdain for others judging her. “You’re a strikingly beautiful woman, Delara. People will stare.”

“Oh, I know,” Delara said breezily. “I’m not afraid of comments, Kyra. I just have no patience for people who expect a woman of color to act a certain way, like I’m not allowed to change my hair color.” The bus they wanted arrived; they scanned their passes and took their seats. Since the studio was closer to Delara’s house and did not have locker room, Delara had invited her to use their guest room to shower and then stay for dinner. Kyra would then take a bus back to her apartment.

“That’s ridiculous,” Kyra said. “You like the way it looks, so why should they care?”

The Persian woman shrugged. “Some people are inherently nosy and want to control everything. I’ve had people ask me if I didn’t like Lululemon clothes, as if subtly asking me if I’m too poor to afford them or looking down at me for not wanting to wear that brand. As long as I’m not flashing anyone, who cares if all I’m wearing to barre3 class is a t-shirt, a sports bra, and sweatpants?”

Kyra chuckled ruefully. “Too true.” She looked at the other woman a moment. “Did Richie put you up to asking me to attend barre3 class with you?”

“No,” Delara said, offended. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I did mention to him I didn’t know that many people and didn’t have many friends.”

Delara shook her head. “You said you wouldn’t be able to attend our weekly dinners since you have that certification class you’re attending, so this is my way of connecting with you outside of watching you spar with Richie and Duncan. I can’t imagine my life without knowing at least half a dozen people I can call and know they’d show up, so seeing someone who doesn’t have that network makes me want to hook them up.”

Kyra looked at her in surprise. “I’d like that,” she agreed. “I rely on myself a lot.”

Delara gripped her hand reassuringly and briefly. “You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I realized that. If I had someone to talk to when my last boyfriend died, it might not have hit me as hard as it did.”

“Well, you’re not alone. You have my number now and if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

Delighted by that offer, Kyra promised, “I will.” She then asked, “Any suggestions on how I should get to know Vanessa? I keep getting the sense she wants to talk but she’s afraid to.”

“Vanessa’s more confident about her work than she is about her personal life,” Delara told Kyra. “Her ex-boyfriend was emotionally abusive and isolated her.”

Kyra winced. “Was he one of my kind?”

Delara nodded. “Broke into the house she was sharing with her best friend and stalked her.”

“That would make me wary of trusting my kind, if I were her,” Kyra murmured.

“No, that’s not why,” Delara countered, shaking her head. “Vanessa wasn’t sure you’d want to know her. You’re more self-contained than most people, and you come across as not needing anyone.”

Kyra looked at her. “Which isn’t the same as wanting people in my life.”

“I know, which is what I told her. She gets herself wound up thinking that the way you, Richie, and Duncan spar means you all secretly hate each other. I told her she can’t take the trash-talking and attacks as anything other than you trying to simulate a real fight, that if you did actually hate each other, you wouldn’t apologize or help each other up.”

Kyra’s eyes widened. “Your insight is why you’re so willing to help Richie distract me or MacLeod.”

Delara chuckled. “Richie actually warned me and Patrick before he let us watch. He was worried we’d misinterpret everything. Now I get a kick out of seeing him get better.”

Kyra smiled. “What do you suggest I do to ease Vanessa’s worries?”

“Ask her to go running. She usually does the Windy Trail loop.”

“I’ll do that,” Kyra decided. “It’s been a long time since I had women friends.”

Delara grinned.

* * *

#### Saturday, October 3

“You sure you want to live here?” Richie asked dubiously as he lugged a bag of new towels and a six-pack of beer into the one-bedroom apartment. “Your kitchen is practically in your bedroom.” The 500-square-foot apartment was long and narrow, resulting in a galley kitchen. The bathroom was at the left-end side of the unit, while the bedroom took up the remaining three-quarters of the right-end side.

Kyra shrugged. “I also don’t want to spend a lot of money on a place if I’m living alone. Having an empty bank account for two and a half weeks made me remember that just because I have money now doesn’t mean I should spend it all. I don’t plan to do a lot in this place anyway, so the layout doesn’t matter as much.”

Richie shook his head and set the bag on the couch. “Kyra, you’re worse than I was when I wasn’t invested in where I lived. How are you supposed to cook in a kitchen this size? You barely have counter space.”

She shrugged again. “You’re just used to cooking for yourself, which is more like cooking for three people,” she pointed out. “I won’t need as much, cooking for me. Besides, it has a stove, a sink, a refrigerator, and some storage. I bought a couch, a table, a TV, four chairs, a pair of nightstands, and a bed with a headboard. What else do I need?”

“Where will you do laundry?”

“There are washers and dryers in the basement.”

Richie sighed. “I didn’t mind having you in my guest room.”

“No, but I did,” Kyra countered gently. “I could see where you were wishing for more privacy. I’ve seen that look of ‘where can I go to decompress’ before.”

Richie didn’t deny it. “Ok, so these are all washed and ready to go.”

Relieved she would have clean towels, since all her furniture had been delivered that morning, Kyra sagged in relief. “Thank you.”

Delara and Patrick stepped into the apartment, carrying bags. “We brought you cookware, dishes, paper towels, extra toilet paper, and utensils,” Patrick announced. “Housewarming gift.”

“You thought of everything,” Kyra exclaimed.

“No, we forgot bakeware and storage,” Delara admitted, setting her two bags down in front of the sink as Patrick did the same. “I wanted to go back and get some, but Patrick reminded me we’re supposed to be at my parents’ house for dinner.”

Kyra looked through the bags and saw everything kitchen-related was still in boxes, which meant she would have to wash everything. Delara and Patrick’s thoughtfulness awed Kyra. She hugged Delara, then Patrick, and then Richie. “You are too good. This must have cost you a small fortune.”

“We knew you didn’t have a car and bringing this stuff home on the bus is a pain,” Delara told her.

“And you guessed I’d avoid it until I had to?” Kyra asked.

Delara shrugged and smiled. “I could see where you’d buy the minimum. You’re like Vanessa that way, not wanting to burden anyone or obstruct someone else.”

Kyra grimaced at that accuracy of that assessment.

“Besides, giving gifts is part of being your friend. Cook us more Greek food and we’ll call it even,” Patrick declared. He then kissed Richie. “See you next Saturday.”

Richie kissed him, then Delara. “Love you two; see you then. Be careful. Tell Banu and Jasper I said hello.”

“Will do.”

After they exited, Kyra looked at Richie. “Not spending the night with them?”

Richie shook his head. “Not tonight. I like Delara’s parents, but I’d rather spend the time with you.”

“You don’t have to-” Kyra protested.

“Actually, I do,” Richie cut her off. “You admitted last week you spend too much time alone. Mac would be here if he and Vanessa didn’t already have tickets to see the afternoon matinee of a Broadway play Vanessa’s been wanting to see. Just because you’ve been taking care of yourself doesn’t mean friends can’t help. Or just, y’know, offer commentary while you put away everything.” He held up a six-pack of beer. “And bring the beer. Can’t have a proper housewarming without beer and pizza. I wasn’t sure what you wanted on your pizza or else I would’ve ordered it in advance.”

Kyra chuckled ruefully. “Clearly, I’m out of practice with having friends over for a housewarming. Or,” she added, “trying to make connections that aren’t work-related.” She unpacked the bags Delara and Patrick had brought and found a complete skillet-and-pot set along with a box of dishes, a set of cooking utensils, and a set of silverware. Delara had even included oven mitts, a dish drainer set, dish towels, a bottle of dishwashing liquid, a bag of dishwasher tablets, a box of pasta, and a jar of organic spaghetti sauce. Kyra put the toilet paper in the bathroom and then opened the pack of paper towels so she could put one in the kitchen.

Richie put the beer in the fridge to chill while they dealt with the packing materials and getting the dishes, silverware, and cookware washed and then put away. After hanging up what she planned to use, Kyra put away the towels Richie had brought. She had made up her bed, having used his laundry the day before to wash bed linens. Duncan and Vanessa’s gift to her had been a gift certificate to a department store; Kyra had taken advantage of it to buy a blue, yellow, and white tile-patterned comforter set. She had added a pale yellow quilt underneath it for extra warmth, and hemstitched blue percale sheets. A run down to the apartment building’s trash compactor took care of the recyclables and large trash items.

“You need art,” Richie told her, surveying her empty walls. “Though I do like the bright green sofa and the comforter you chose.”

Kyra acknowledged that with a rueful shrug. “Maybe. I wanted something bright and happy to come home to and didn’t want another leather sofa or white comforter. Being around you reminded me that there’s a point where being practical is boring.”

Richie chuckled and pulled out his phone. “What do you want on your pizza?”

“Not going to take your girlfriend’s dinner suggestion?” Kyra asked as she took a seat on her couch.

“No, that’s for you when you’re by yourself. Pizza toppings?”

“Um, I’ll eat anything except pineapple.”

“Okay then,” Richie said, and ordered a meat lover’s special from a local pizza chain.

It didn’t take long for their pizza to be delivered. Kyra pointedly handed Richie a twenty to cover the cost of her share; he took it under protest.

“Let’s eat at the table, please,” Kyra told him as he pulled out two beers from the fridge and opened each one with a bottle opener from his key ring.

Nodding, he brought the pizza box over and set it on the center of the four-person oak table. “Do you want to use plates or just eat right out of the box?”

Kyra handed him the roll of paper towels. “Right out of the box. I don’t want to wash plates again.”

Chuckling, Richie sat down and helped himself to a piece. After taking a bite, he wondered, “What did you mean by ‘out of practice’?”

“Just – I must be coming on too strong or too weird,” Kyra admitted. “I tried to connect with someone and they told me they were more interested in sex than a relationship. I thought it was good I said what I wanted?”

Richie shook his head. “Not if you tried to be romantic and charming without giving them reason to trust you.” He eyed her. “Especially if you picked them up at the Neon Unicorn.”

“What’s wrong with that bar?”

“Most people who go there aren’t looking for anything permanent.”

Kyra glared at him. “You didn’t mention that.”

“Didn’t think you needed me to point out that picking up someone at a bar tends not to be a long-term commitment. When’s the last time you dated someone?”

“1988, and Richard was supposed to be the person I was guarding.” She shrugged sheepishly. “I tried to keep it professional, but he kept asking me out and I liked him too much to say no.”

“Were you fired from the company for it?”

Kyra winced. “It was more the ‘hospitalized for a mental breakdown’ part that did it.”

“And before that?”

“He was cute and not annoying, and the woman I’d been dating dumped me at a bar. I knew he was giving me a line about seeing me sad, but he was sincere. I loved that about him.” She hesitated before admitting, “I get involved with the people I guard or they’re friends with the person. Or, they’re pretty and I want to get laid. I don’t always think it through.”

Richie shook his head. “Kyra, even I know that’s not a good strategy.”

“It works,” she defended herself.

“But not long-term,” Richie noted. “If you’re not careful, you could meet someone who takes advantage of your lack of planning. I learned that lesson the hard way.”

“I don’t want to view the world through a paranoid lens,” Kyra argued, gesturing with her beer bottle. “I’ve done that enough in my life. It’s how I ended up with only a handful of people I can call friend. Part of coming here was so I have friends I can call upon. My last work contract ended, and I realized the only people who’d care about me were thousands of miles away, and I wasn’t even sure if they were alive.”

“Amanda and Duncan,” Richie surmised.

Kyra nodded. “And a few others. I don’t suppose you know a Matthew of Salisbury? I haven’t seen him since 1794.”

Richie shook his head. “Not under that name, no, but it’s plausible, given whom I have met. Why?”

“He and I were married for twenty-one years. Longest I’ve ever been married,” Kyra said wistfully.

“What happened?”

“I got shot protecting the duchess and died publicly, so that was the end of the marriage. After that, Matthew wanted to go to America; he thought the British crown was meddling in things that would only end in more war. I told him no and stayed in London.”

“Do you regret it?”

Kyra offered Richie a rueful smile. “I’ve missed him. He’s one of a handful of men whose company I’ve enjoyed thoroughly. He never assumed I was weak because of my gender. He said it was because his teacher had been a woman and she would kick his ass if he ever made that mistake again.”

Richie grinned. “Then, yes, I know him. He’s in Baltimore working for Homeland Security.”

Relief rushed through Kyra. “I don’t need his number, but if you talk to him, would you let him know I’m still around?”

Richie nodded in understanding. “I’ll pass on the message. Do you want someone in your life long-term?”

Kyra considered the question. “It would be nice to have that again,” she agreed. “It’s too easy for me to charge ahead without those anchors. Living that way makes me a great bodyguard or spy, but I’m burned out on that way of life.”

Richie nodded his understanding as he ate another slice of pizza. “Who would you want?”

“Not Matthew and not Duncan,” Kyra grinned. “Don’t get me wrong: MacLeod is a good friend and exactly who I needed when we were lovers, but I don’t want another immortal as my lover.”

“How come?”

Kyra took a sip of beer before answering. “Because then you’re tangled in each other’s histories. I spent three centuries guarding British royalty, during a period when they were expanding their empire and crushing rebellions. I was more concerned then with making sure I had a job that paid me well than paying attention to individual character and morality.” She offered Richie a wry smile. “I wasn’t always good at looking past the now to the future. It wasn’t until my argument with Matthew in 1794 I took stock of who I was working for and why. I’ve had to defend my old decisions to others of our kind, who wanted my head because I protected British royalty who, in hindsight, were often selfish and cruel, and who reveled in suffering of those they considered beneath them.”

“And if you fell in love with one of us?”

“Then I’d have to factor in that they might have to defend me to someone they consider a friend. Matthew was easy – he believed in upholding the law, so if the law was something he agreed with, his enemies were clear. Others of our kind I’ve loved haven’t been so easy to identify.” She shook her head. “I’d rather fall in love with a mortal and deal with their aging and associated problems.” She studied Richie. “What about you? If you weren’t in love with Delara and Patrick, would you consider one of us?”

“At this point: no, since I’ve been burned so much by female immortals. It would take someone special to convince me they weren’t out for my head. And frankly, given how much I love Delara and Patrick – I can’t see myself ever leaving them for one of us.” He sipped his beer. “Didn’t you meet someone earlier this month?”

“Yes, but she said she wanted no commitment.” Kyra sighed. “And maybe I came on way too flowery and strong.”

Richie smiled sympathetically. “Maybe you’ll run into her again and can make up for it the next time you talk.”

Kyra raised her beer bottle and toasted him. “Your words to the gods’ ears.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sex with light bondage ahead; if that bothers you, skip to the next date stamp. :-)

#### Saturday, October 17

Lily sat at a table in Delirium, sipping on a cocktail and wondering if she should have skipped out on this date entirely. Her date had looked at Lily, dressed in one of her favorite lace-up black velvet dresses and a red scarf, and given her the look of ‘oh, no, you’re Goth,’ Lily knew all too well, then excused herself to go the bathroom. That had been twenty minutes ago. From the looks of the other club goers, Lily was out of place. To Lily, this look was ‘conservative’ – only in closeup could one see the velvet was printed with roses and skulls. The dance club throbbed with the beat of Top 40 pop hits. All around her, people were dressed in a mix of jeans and cocktail wear, though the club had a dress code – no t-shirts with sayings on them, ripped jeans, or flip-flops.

She was debating whether to leave when she heard an English-accented voice exclaim, “Lily?”

Slowly, Lily turned to see her one-time lover standing beside the table. Kyra wore a long-sleeved green sequin dress; the skirt hit mid-thigh. Black stockings covered her legs, in deference to the October chill, and knee-high boots covered her feet. She carried a light brown wool coat over one arm. Something about the way it hung made Lily wonder if she was conditioned to see swords in coats. Mentally, Lily shook her head; the chances Kyra was immortal were slim.

“Kyra,” Lily greeted, surprised. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine the other woman in this club, even if was one of the more popular queer-friendly dance clubs. It attracted a much younger crowd than The Neon Unicorn. “Do you like Top 40 music?”

“One of my guilty pleasures,” Kyra admitted. “I guarded a European pop star for six years; learned to love it. What brings you here?”

“Met a date here, but it looks like they stood me up. Guess she didn’t look too closely at my profile where I said I’m Goth.” Lily hesitated, remembering the other woman’s words, but wanting more of the pleasure she knew Kyra could give her. “If I asked you to take me home, would you do it without getting weird about it afterwards?”

“Forgive me, I’m out of practice in dating anyone,” Kyra said.

Lily looked at her in surprise. “Beautiful, sexy woman like you out of practice?”

“When you’re someone’s bodyguard twenty-four-seven, it doesn’t leave much room for a personal life,” Kyra told her. “Not if you want to do it well.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “Are you doing that now?”

Kyra grinned. “No, I tired of it, and when he changed record companies, they ended my contract because the record company was paying for my services. I have enough to live on, but it took a few weeks to get my bank accounts straightened out.” She shrugged and reached for Lily’s hand. “One night wasn’t enough for me. Did you want another?”

“Only if you promise not to talk about a relationship,” Lily warned. “I want to fuck you.”

Disappointment flashed across Kyra’s face before she composed herself. “And if I said tonight would not be enough to satisfy my desire for you?”

“You could convince me to another night,” Lily hedged. “Depends on how well tonight goes.”

Kyra took a deep breath and set her shoulders. “Then you’re in luck; my apartment’s a fifteen-minute walk from here.”

* * *

The apartment was small, but as it was on a floor that was several stories above the building next to it, it had a clear view of the southern end of downtown. To Lily, she was not surprised at the size of the apartment given its location; if it were farther outside the city, she would have assumed Kyra still had no money. Between the view and the location, however, it reinforced her sense that Kyra was better off that she had initially believed.

“I see you traded space for location,” Lily noted.

Kyra chuckled. “I didn’t want to spend a lot of time on a commute,” she said as she hung both her coat and Lily’s in the hall closet. “This is close to where I put my business.”

Lily nodded in understanding and stepped closer to Kyra to kiss her so they could stop talking. Taking the hint, Kyra led her into the bedroom.

The queen-sized bed took up most of the space and was flanked by a pair of one-drawer nightstands. The simple slat-style oak headboard matched the nightstands, making Lily think Kyra had bought a set. Kyra had dressed the bed with a blue, yellow, and white tile-print comforter; when she pulled the covers back, Lily saw she had matched the sheets to the comforter.

Wanting to be naked as quickly as possible, Lily undressed and piled her clothing in one corner. Kyra took the hint and did the same before stepping closer and kissing her as though they had all the time in the world to kiss. Lily whimpered at the unhurried pace.

“I want you to want more of this,” Kyra told her huskily. “You deserve to be loved, Lily, like you’re the most precious woman in the world.”

“And what if I said I want you to tie me up and make me beg?” Lily dared.

Heat flashed in Kyra’s eyes. “Do you want that?”

Lily’s eyes widened. She hadn’t believed Kyra would call her bluff. It was rare she wanted this, but she wanted to know how far Kyra would go. “Would you?”

In reply, Kyra reached into a drawer and pulled out a green paisley scarf. “Green, yellow, or red, Lily. Only what you want, when you want it. I want you to enjoy this and want more from me.”

Lily swallowed hard as desire pooled in her belly. Past lovers had either gone too far or not far enough.

Kyra noticed. “Or did you think I wouldn’t go this far?” She stepped closer and stroked the side of Lily’s face. Unconsciously, Lily lifted her head and leaned into Kyra’s touch.

“You don’t need this–” Kyra held up the scarf “-to know I won’t hurt you. I never want to hurt you, pretty Lily.” She dropped the scarf into the drawer as Lily’s heart beat a tattoo of nerves. “But if you want to play, I can take you there with no insults, no physical restraints, and no blindfolds.”

Lily shivered. “I’ve never played that way.”

Kyra kissed her reassuringly. “Nothing without your consent but if we play like this, I want no barriers between us. If you want this, when you say ‘red,’ I stop.”

Lily studied her as excitement-fueled adrenaline surged through her body. Kyra was pulling no punches, asking her to trust her on blind faith, and yet… Lily felt reckless; she barely knew this woman but the fact she was not insisting on a level of restraint more than Lily wanted went a long way towards trust. Lily took a deep breath. “Kyra, please. I want this with you.”

Kyra pointed to the headboard.

“Then put your hands on the headboard, lay down on your back, and don’t let go until I tell you,” Kyra ordered.

Nodding, Lily followed the instructions. Kyra kissed her sweetly as her reward, then reacquainted herself with Lily’s body. Kyra’s tongue and hands mapped out Lily’s small breasts, lingering on her left nipple until Lily arched with pleasure, and still Kyra kept sucking and stroking. Lily cried out as Kyra’s stimulation made her come.

“Green?” Kyra whispered.

“Oh God,” Lily moaned. “Yes, so green. The other side, please, Kyra. Want your mouth on me.”

Kyra blew gently on the other nipple, causing Lily to arch and put said nipple exactly where Kyra wanted it. Kyra bit it gently, then soothed the bite with her tongue, sucking it until it was as distended as the other side and Lily was once again crying out.

“No more, red, oh God!”

Kyra stopped at once and let Lily catch her breath.

“May I touch you again, sweet Lily?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Lily said.

“What’s my color?”

“Green. Kiss me, please.”

Smiling, Kyra did that, kissing her tenderly.

Never in Lily’s life had she had a lover so willing to go as far as Lily wanted without wanting more than Lily did. For a moment, Lily rued her desire to hold on to the headboard and not touch Kyra back. She could feel Kyra’s body pressing against hers, holding her to the bed with body weight. Lily wanted to give back as much pleasure as she was getting, but Lily knew this game. Kyra would reward her if she was patient.

Then Kyra moved downward. She paused before she reached Lily’s mons and asked, “Do you want my mouth on you?”

Lily whimpered in anticipation. The heat of Kyra’s hand was like a brand on her skin. “Yes, please.”

“Do you want my fingers in you?”

“Kyra!”

“My tongue, licking you open, tasting how yummy you are?”

“Please!”

“What’s my color?”

“Green, oh, God, Kyra, green,” Lily panted, frustrated.

Kyra kissed her. “Beautiful and precious, pretty Lily.”

Then she moved downward again and used her tongue to lash Lily’s clit to attention. Lily gasped in pleasure when Kyra sucked on her clit as if it was a tiny cock. As pleasure flooded her senses, Lily found it became harder to hold onto the bed’s slats, but she didn’t want to disappoint Kyra.

“Such a good woman,” Kyra praised her. “So responsive. I want to make you come again on my tongue. Do you want that?”

Lily moaned at the thought. It took her a minute to realize Kyra wanted words. “Please, Kyra!”

“So pretty when you beg,” Kyra praised her, stroking Lily’s clit with her fingers. “Tell me what you want, my pretty Lily.” Kyra’s accent had shifted from English to Greek; it made her words sound even sexier to Lily’s ears.

“More, please, Kyra!”

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll get out my vibrator instead.”

“No, please, Kyra, suck my clit and fuck me with your tongue,” Lily managed, breathing hard.

Kyra dropped a kiss on Lily’s mons and made her shiver with anticipation. Kyra wasted no time in giving Lily what she wanted, sending her over the cliff of ecstasy again. Spent, Lily let go of the headboard, only to find Kyra putting her hands back.

“Did I say you could let go, pretty Lily? No, I didn’t. I think you have more in you. I think sucking me off will get you off again.”

Lily moaned. “Kyra, please. Green.”

Kyra grinned as her eyes darkened with anticipation. “Yes, that will do.” She then arranged herself so that her pussy was directly over Lily’s face and rode Lily’s tongue, directing her until she came. The restraint on Lily’s ability to use her hands added a level of spice Lily had forgotten she enjoyed, and she knew she wanted more.

Kyra shifted position. “Open your eyes, my sweet,” she ordered Lily, who was surprised to find she had closed her eyes.

Opening them, Lily watched as Kyra drove four fingers inside Lily’s pussy, causing her to arch and moan sharply in pleasure. “Keep your eyes on me,” Kyra ordered. “Want to watch you come on my hand.”

Arching and moaning, Lily kept her gaze on her lover as the other woman drove her over the cliff of pleasure. Kyra let out a whimper as she reveled in taking pleasure from what she had done, pulled her hand out, and rose. The running of a faucet told Lily Kyra had gone to wash her hand.

Then Kyra returned and held Lily close. “You can let go now,” she told Lily.

Grateful, for her hands had cramped, Lily let go.

Kyra reached over and rubbed Lily’s hands until they stopped cramping.

Lily soaked in the affection and caring. “That was intense,” she commented. “I thought you would refuse me.”

“Did I pass your test?” Kyra asked.

Startled at being seen through, Lily looked at her. “You knew I was testing you?”

“You wanted to see if I’d ignore your limits, push you past some line in your head,” Kyra noted. “You’ve been burned by that, but you like not having control sometimes, enough that you’re willing to risk your lines being crossed.”

Lily was quiet. The observation sent a chill through her, though she clung to Kyra’s lack of censure. “I hope you don’t hope that against me.”

“Why?” Kyra asked, confused, and kissed her tenderly. “It’s very sexy, and I wouldn’t mind if you returned the favor sometime. I won’t do it all the time, mind you, but I enjoyed doing that with you. Do you want some water?”

“Please.”

Kyra rose and brought back a glass of water. Lily sat up and drank half of it before passing it back to Kyra, who finished it and set it on the nightstand.

Kyra studied her a moment before leaning in and kissing her again. “Stay, Lily. I want to make love to you until we’re both exhausted and fall asleep here.”

Lily hesitated, but then remembered that because of parking, she had taken the bus down. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told her the next bus home would not be for another hour.

“Unless you need to be somewhere in the morning,” Kyra added.

“No.” Lily surged forward and kissed her. If one more night was all she would get with her goddess, she’d make the most of it.

For the next five Saturdays, they met at Delirium, shared a drink, then went home to Kyra’s apartment and spent the rest of the night having sex. If Kyra wanted more, she kept it to herself. Of her work, she said little, so Lily assumed she didn’t want to hear anything about hers. Kyra always made her breakfast before Lily left – yogurt with granola one morning, a fluffy scramble the next. It gave Lily an odd hope that what they shared was more than sex, that she meant something to Kyra. Every time they had sex, Kyra made sure Lily enjoyed herself before taking her pleasure. They didn’t play with verbal restraints again but knowing Kyra would if she asked was enough for Lily.

It made Lily’s heart, always guarded and suspicious, wonder if she had miscalculated by demanding they only have sex, nothing more. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to say anything, worried that if she broke the arrangement, she’d lose Kyra.

* * *

#### Sunday, November 22

“What the hell kind of move was that, Kyra?” Duncan demanded, stepping back from a reckless strike rather than attempt to parry it.

“Sorry, I was distracted.”

Duncan sighed. Richie had opted out of this week’s sparring session, claiming he had to help Delara and Patrick with Thanksgiving preparations. Joe had bar business, and Genevieve had gone back to France to visit family, though she would be back in time for Thanksgiving. Vanessa had wanted to spend time with Lily, since it had been several weeks since the two had connected, and Vanessa was worried. It was just Kyra and Duncan in the dojo.

“I know you’ve become closer to Richie, but you can still talk to me,” Duncan reminded her.

“Richie’s easier,” Kyra pointed out. “He doesn’t think I’m broken. You still look at me like you remember when I had amnesia.”

Duncan offered her a rueful smile “Sorry. I just hate to see the people I care about struggling.” He sheathed his sword and stepped closer to his one-time lover. “And you light up when you talk about the places you’ve gone with Richie, Delara, Vanessa, and Patrick, but this is the third week in a row you’ve come in here, your mind a world away. What’s bothering you?”

Kyra bowed her head at his perceptiveness and put her sword back in its sheath before she stepped into the hug he offered. Leaning against him, she let herself be comforted.

“Want to talk about it rather than keep sparring?” Duncan offered.

“Might as well,” Kyra admitted, and sat down in a chair on the sidelines. “What do you do when you fall in love with someone so committed to limiting her chances at love, she’ll only accept sex?”

Duncan pulled out a chair so he could face Kyra when he sat down. “Have you talked to her?”

Kyra sighed. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Kyra, surely if this situation were reversed, you’d have advice for me.”

“As Richie’s pointed out – I have a better chance of succeeding when it’s someone I’m sworn to protect. I don’t know how to talk to people without pissing them off. I already made that mistake once with Lily.”

“And you’re willing to settle?” Duncan asked.

“I thought I was,” Kyra admitted. “But the longer I’m with her, the more I want to show her.”

“Then you need to talk,” Duncan suggested. “Have you met her friends, her family?” At Kyra’s head shake, Duncan asked, “Why not?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask, not after I came on too strong the first time.”

Duncan shot her a look. “Then you’d better decide if having a lover is worth this much distraction. You’re a much better fighter than that.”

Aware he was right, Kyra heaved a sigh. “Let’s call this session over; I have some thinking to do.”


	8. Chapter 8

Across town, Vanessa studied her friend as they sat in the living room of her condo. The romantic comedy they were watching was one Lily had been excited to see when it first came to theatres, but Vanessa had not been in the mood, so Lily had agreed to wait until it came out on video. Lily, however, was not paying attention.

Vanessa paused the movie and waited to see if Lily would notice. Lily took a full minute before the lack of sound and motion caught her attention.

“What happened?” Lily asked.

“You,” Vanessa said and pointed the remote at her. “You keep looking at the lead actress like she reminds you of someone you’d rather be with.”

“She’s hot,” Lily agreed. “Big boobs, hourglass figure, blond hair, English accent, what’s not to like?”

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. “Lily, the lead actress doesn’t have an English accent.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Stop pretending you’re innocent; you and I know better. You were with Kyra again,” Vanessa surmised.

Lily looked away briefly. “She’s good in bed.”

“And smart, self-confident, and successful,” Vanessa added. “Did she give you that scarf?”

Lily glanced down at the green paisley scarf she was toying with as if she had never seen it before. “This old thing?”

Vanessa favored her with a look. “You ‘borrowed’ it rather than ask.”

“So?” Lily said defensively. “It was just in a drawer.”

“And important to you because it reminds you of her.” With a sigh, Vanessa countered, “You’ll storm hell for your friends, Lily, but you’ve stopped wanting more for yourself. What are you so afraid of?”

“Aren’t you scared Duncan will rip your heart apart?”

“No,” Vanessa replied calmly, and watched surprise blossom on her friend’s face. “Because I have to trust our love is strong enough – that I’m strong enough to go on. I have _friends_, Lily. Do you know how long I’ve been without them? How much I gain by knowing you have my back, that _we_ aren’t alone?”

Lily stared at her, confusion on her face.

Impatient, Vanessa leaned in. “Lily, Richie is worried you’re reconsidering being friends with him and Mac because you’ve stopped coming to the sparring sessions. Delara might stage an intervention if you don’t come to Thanksgiving dinner, since you’ve been avoiding their dinners too. Delara, Patrick, Richie, and Mac are your friends too – they’re not just mine. Hell, Patrick was yours before he was mine.”

“I just figured you five wanted that time to yourselves,” Lily excused herself.

Vanessa looked at her skeptically. “All that time? From the queen of ‘ohmiGod, they’re immortal!’? From the person who dragged me to meet Delara and Patrick, even if I was nervous?”

Lily flushed. “Maybe I realized Mac and Richie didn’t need me fawning over them every time they healed.”

“And ignoring the open invitation to dinner?”

“Delara kept pairing me with Jessie Mitchell.”

“And?”

“Jessie’s an activist who expects people with privilege to do more for their brethren,” Lily remarked impatiently. “I don’t want to be a flag waver, marching in every fucking Pride parade. I’d rather not spend my dinner debating why my support through my monetary donation is just as valid and more effective.”

Vanessa sighed, remembering that disaster of a dinner. Jessie had agreed to stop pushing her agenda and apologized to everyone, which meant she had earned a repeat invitation.

“What about your friendship with Patrick? He’s hurt you haven’t told him why you’ve pulled back.”

“Patrick wouldn’t tell you that.”

“He would if he thought you would misinterpret a text,” Vanessa noted dryly, leaning back against the corner of the couch. “Patrick also has been in therapy for nearly eight months, which means he’s learned to talk about his feelings instead of bottling them up until they become misdirected as worry about things he can control. He asked me if you’d be okay with a text from him asking to meet him to discuss things if you didn’t come to Thanksgiving.”

Lily winced. “I didn’t think he’d worry like that.”

“Lily, Patrick is a champion worrier. It’s why he’s in therapy and has been taking anti-anxiety medication. He hides it under a great façade of competence, that he has everything under control, and that nothing bothers him.”

Lily’s eyes widened as she realized she had bought into that façade.

“Richie’s love for him and Delara has allowed Patrick to have the strength to realize the way he was going through life wasn’t sustainable without some help.” Vanessa reached over and touched Lily’s hand. “I’ve been worried about you. When you get quiet, something’s wrong.”

Lily looked at the ceiling for a moment before she turned her gaze to Vanessa. “I’m getting what I asked for from Kyra, but I don’t think she’ll want more once she realizes I won’t change.”

“Have you asked her?”

“No.”

Vanessa threw up her hands in disgust. “Lily, you’re running on assumptions.”

“I just know she’ll want someone else when she realizes this is who I am,” Lily insisted.

“What, stubborn and afraid someone will love her exactly for who she is?”

Lily rose to her feet and hugged her stomach. “Yes,” she retorted as she paced angrily. “Because my parents didn’t. You’re one of the few people who hasn’t. Everyone I’ve tried to love has asked me to do something I haven’t wanted to do. My ex-fiancée, Elizabeth, wanted me to give up everything I’d worked for because she wanted a house that was ours, as if this place wasn’t big enough for two people. When I didn’t want to give up this condo, didn’t want to quit my job, and didn’t want to stop dressing like a fairy Goth, she said if I loved her, I’d realize how to compromise. I don’t want to compromise.” She spat the word. “Not if it means giving up me. Why can’t I find a heart like mine?”

“Oh, Lily.” Heart aching for her friend, Vanessa rose and hugged her. “You will. Give Kyra a chance; I think she’ll surprise you.”

Lily shook her head, not believing.

“You’re coming to Thanksgiving on Thursday,” Vanessa said firmly. “Delara wants to serve dinner at six-thirty.”

Lily sighed. “I’ll be there,” she assured Vanessa. She picked up her phone and texted Patrick.

_No, I’m not mad at you or anyone else. Just adjusting to my new normal now Vanessa’s moved out._

_Lily, stop kidding yourself that’s the reason,_ Patrick texted back. _Vanessa moved out in September. Whatever you’re going through, it scares you, and you hate admitting you’re not in control. I know that feeling. _

Lily swallowed, realizing he knew her better than she had realized. _How do you deal with it?_

_Stuff like that is easier when you don’t hide away and let your fears become reality. I’ll never judge you for your fears, Lily. I probably share them; come talk to me and we can find out and be scared together._

Lily half-laughed. “Guess you aren’t the only one who knows me,” she told Vanessa, and shared the text conversation with her.

“See? I told you,” Vanessa said tartly.

Lily gave her a rueful smile. “I tend to think it’s just me I can count on,” she told Vanessa.

“I know,” Vanessa said. “Which is why I’m here to remind you you’re not alone.”

_Will we see you on Thanksgiving? _Patrick texted.

_Yes, I’ll be there, _Lily wrote.

Patrick sent her a ‘cool’ emoji.

Lily turned to Vanessa. “There, he’s happy now. Do you want to restart this or did you want to skip to something else?”

“Something else,” Vanessa decided. “Since this one isn’t grabbing your attention.”

* * *

#### Thursday, November 26

Pleased with her efforts, Kyra sprinkled chopped fresh parsley on her spanakopita and put it into a plastic container. She had borrowed Richie’s kitchen to cook, since she had yet to buy bakeware for her new apartment. She then changed into a white tunic, heavyweight black leggings, and knee-high black boots, stashing the jeans and t-shirt she had worn into the tote bag she had brought with her. Claiming he’d been dared to do so, Richie had bought her an asymmetric, faux leather, burgundy-colored dress when she had gone with him, Vanessa, and Delara thrift shopping at a secondhand clothing store. Whoever had owned it had hemmed it; for Kyra, it became a mini dress rather than a knee-length dress. She had refused to take it home, unwilling to wear something that short, and demanded he not purchase it. Richie had teased her about her modesty, claiming he had looked up how short ancient Greek tunics were. Kyra had retorted that was why she hated mini-skirts.

Living with Richie had given Kyra an insider’s knowledge of the neighborhood around the condo. A liquor store, one of the few independent shops left in the city from the changeover from state-run liquor stores to anyone with a valid license selling it, was a ten-minute walk away. Kyra knew they had a broad selection of European wines, including one of her favorite Greek wines. 

She noticed the twenty-something man awkwardly carrying a brand-new skateboard first. Genevieve had warned her they would assign a Watcher to her, but he looked so out of place. His rock band t-shirt, flannel overshirt, Columbia ski jacket, and jeans made him look ordinary, but the shininess of his skateboard drew her eye. The trefoil tattoo symbol as the lone sticker on the underside of the board made her shake her head at his obvious attempt to assure her he was friendly. Dismissing him as her Watcher and therefore not a threat to her safety, Kyra focused on her purchase.

She had started down the aisle when immortal Presence sounded its warning. Hoping whoever it was would ignore her, she thanked the owner as she paid and took her purchases outside.

Kyra saw the strange immortal when she exited. He stood at the end of the block, his black trench coat open, his broadsword in his hand. His craggy, pockmarked face was his most distinguishing feature. Years of security work had Kyra cataloging his height at 5’9”, his approximate weight at 200 pounds, with a medium build. His legs were longer than his torso, and he had long arms, which would offer him an advantage.

“I’ve no quarrel with you,” Kyra offered, stopping out of sword’s reach.

“Don’t need one,” the stranger told her. “The Game’s enough, unless you’d rather come to a different… solution.” His tone implied sex was enough. 

Kyra growled. She had fought others like him before. He thought she was gullible enough to think she would be safe if they fucked. She knew better. “Not on your life.” 

“Then come fight me in the alley.” He jerked his hand to the alley across the street.

“And if I said no, I have other places to be today? Surely you’re aware of this American holiday called Thanksgiving.”

The stranger chuckled harshly. “Then I’ll come find your family and kill them slowly, so you’d regret walking away.”

“Good luck with that,” Kyra said, walking away.

“So you’re the new girlfriend,” the stranger called out. “The Highlander fight all your fights for you? Or is it Ryan you’re fucking?”

Kyra blew out a breath, aware the stranger had baited her correctly. The sane thing to do was to keep walking, get on the bus, and head to Patrick and Delara’s, but Kyra knew what she would do in the stranger’s shoes: follow her. After two months of sparring against Duncan and Richie, Kyra knew both men would either take up her fight or avenge her death. Either of them would take this challenge without hesitation, and win. Kyra was no slouch with a sword; she had not survived two millennia by running away from every challenge. Sparring against two of the Game’s best fighters had only improved her skills. Leading this stranger to them would have to be a last resort; she had no wish to involve them unnecessarily.

Confident in her abilities, she changed direction and walked over the alley. Discarding her coat, she pulled out her sword, setting her purchase, her coat, and the bag with the spanakopita on the ground near the entrance to the alley. 

Grinning toothily, the stranger tossed his trench coat aside. “I’m Samuel Robinson, and I will take your head.”

“Kyra,” Kyra said shortly, and then struck. The ensuing fight was more vicious and challenging than she had expected. Her opponent was skilled and tenacious, unwilling to surrender. Robinson thought he could use his greater reach against Kyra, but she had learned how to defend against someone like that centuries before, by being quicker at getting inside his guard. When his initial strategy didn’t work, Robinson tried battering her, hoping to wear her out with sheer force and repetition. A lesser experienced fighter would surrender under that pressure.

Kyra was grateful that the weekly sparring sessions with Duncan and Richie had prepared her to fight. It had been too easy to slack off on practice without a sparring partner and to assume her skills were sufficient. Having to fight against Richie – who used speed and agility to his advantage – had sharpened Kyra’s responses, while fighting against Duncan, a more technical, experienced fighter, had forced Kyra to remember attacks and defenses she rarely used in challenges. With a shudder, she knew if she had fought Robinson when she had first arrived in September, the outcome would have been less certain.

Robinson parried a strike he thought was coming from his left side – but Kyra had stepped right. Before he could adjust to her movement, Kyra took his head with her next swing. The look of shock on his face became frozen forever.

When the lightning faded and she could breathe without panting, Kyra surveyed the alley. The Quickening had not been brief; Samuel had taken multiple heads in his five years of immortality. The fallout of the Quickening had overturned trash cans and tossed debris everywhere. Grimly, Kyra went back to where she had left her things.

Her phone, which she had put in a military-grade case, and the bottle of wine had survived the fight; the spanakopita had not. Quickening lightning had caused a metal shard to puncture the plastic container, making the contents inedible. With a sigh, Kyra abandoned the container and surveyed the damage to herself. Blood stained her white tunic; her hair had blood spatter, and her leggings had a slash on the right thigh. Uncaring of the damage, she wiped her sword clean on her opponent’s body. The magic Nakano’s student taught her came in handy now; she used it to make the corpse crumble to ashes.

Muttering curses, she snagged the wine and her jacket and made her way back to Richie’s condo. She would be late, and the only thing clean to wear without going all the way back to her apartment was the damned dress.

_Next time I see Richie, I will ask him if he’s gotten psychic_, Kyra vowed. The dress had long sleeves and a button-down top. To her relief, the shortened hemline of the dress meant she was not flashing anyone, but it was still shorter than Kyra liked to wear. Hastily, she braided her wet hair, cleaned and sharpened her sword, and then put on her coat and boots and headed back out.

A quick check of the bus schedule revealed she had just missed the one that would take her closest to Delara and Patrick’s house; the next bus would not arrive for another hour.

_Kyra, where are you?_ Richie texted.

_Running late,_ she replied. _Thanks for the dress._

Unwilling to be even later than expected, she hailed a car through a ride-share app, and ignored Richie’s confused emoji reply. She would explain when she didn’t have to type an answer.

Twenty minutes later, Kyra thanked the ride-share driver and quickly exited the car, hoping the wine she had brought would ease her late arrival. This was not how she wanted to impress Richie’s lovers, who had shown themselves to be warm, accepting, steadfast people. While they had not been at every sparring session since September, Delara and Patrick had been at more of them than not. Hearing their commentary had been enlightening and fun, and Kyra wanted to show them she appreciated them.

Immortal presence filled her senses, reminding her that her destination held two immortals. Arriving at the door, she read the note stating, “No need to knock – all are welcome (except vampires!).” The note made her laugh even as she opened the door.

Inside, she found a worried-looking Duncan, who hugged her in relief and welcome. “What happened? We were thinking you got lost!” His hand touched her hair, and his frown deepened.

Aware they had listeners unlikely to know about immortality, Kyra spoke in French. “Someone objected to my existence. I had to disabuse them of the notion I was weak and defenseless. But hey, I brought wine?”

Alarm crossed Duncan’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I am now, and no, we aren’t discussing any of it,” Kyra said firmly in English, unwilling to get into the details. Taking a Quickening reduced Kyra to her core self and made her English more Greek-accented than usual. “I’m hungry, and I skipped breakfast.”

Delara stepped forward and took the wine, but not before giving her a look that said she understood French and had heard at least part of what Kyra had said. In English, she said briskly but warmly, “Kyra – come in, we just said grace, and there’s room at the table in the kitchen.”

Appreciating her practicality, Kyra followed her. The dining room table held fourteen; another table was in the kitchen and held another six. Kyra’s heart stopped when she recognized her lover, Lily, at the second table, but Lily’s back was to her, and so she didn’t see Kyra.

Richie, who was at the second table, stood up when he saw Kyra and hugged her. As he did so, he noted her wet hair, and his smile tightened into a grimace. In French, he asked her, “Someone looking for you or for us?”

“He didn’t know me; he thought I might be your girlfriend or maybe MacLeod’s. Are you sure you’re not psychic?” she answered in the same language.

He barked a laugh. “No, but Connor MacLeod is; he texted me that day to make sure I got you a dress. I’ve learned not to question it. And he said to tell you he never introduced himself as a MacLeod.”

Kyra’s eyes widened as she realized in her long life, she had met the other, elder Highlander and not known it. Not wishing to be rude by dwelling on it, she told Richie, “We’ll talk about that later.”

In English, she looked at her table companions and said, “I’m Kyra Stamoulis; I run a security consulting firm. Sorry I’m late.”

“Not too late for eating turkey,” the Japanese woman across from Richie assured her. “I’m Nene Kawamura. I’m one of the senior instructors at Duncan’s dojo.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Kyra murmured.

“Next is Jessie Mitchell, who works for a large coffee corporation as an events coordinator.”

Jessie, whose mouth was full, waved her hand. She wore suspenders with a dress shirt, making Kyra like her instantly for her fashion choices. Her short-cropped brown hair held the last traces of purple.

“Across from her and next to you is Riker Williams, whom you might remember from the last time you had dinner here.”

Riker, a heavyset, bearded man, smiled affably. “My wife and I were wondering if you’d ever come back to dinner here or if you got scared off.”

Kyra chuckled. “Timing hasn’t worked out,” she told him. “I was attending a workplace violence prevention seminar and some other industry networking events.”

Riker’s eyes widened. “Talk to me after dinner; I’d love to know what you do, since I’m a corporate attorney.”

“I’d love that,” Kyra said sincerely.

“And last but not least is–” 

Lily’s eyes pleaded with Kyra not to make a scene, as if she expected Kyra to make one. Kyra wondered what the backstory was on that. She wished she could reassure Lily making a scene was the last thing she wanted to do, not when she could feel the echoes of a Quickening thrumming through her blood, demanding attention.

“Lily Walton,” Kyra finished for Richie. Unsure whether Lily wanted to be claimed as her girlfriend, Kyra settled on, “We’ve been getting acquainted. Good to see you, Lily.”

Lily looked relieved at Kyra’s polite tone. “Good to see you too, Kyra.”

Lily’s response sent a chill of disappointment through Kyra. It wasn’t the first time in Kyra’s life she had had a lover refuse to claim her as theirs, but she had hoped Lily was different.

Surprised, Richie looked between them, his eyes narrowing. “Well, that’s interesting,” he murmured. “Did you want wine, Kyra?”

Certain he would press for details, Kyra warned him off with a look. “Please. Nena, please pass down that platter in front of you? It looks delicious.”

For the next few minutes, conversation around the table centered on passing platters of food, which reflected a mixture of Persian and traditional American Thanksgiving dishes. Richie poured Kyra a glass of honey-colored wine, which turned out to be a sparkling mead. Kyra let the conversation she had interrupted with her arrival resume, more interested in getting something in her stomach so she wouldn’t growl at anyone.

“Skipped breakfast?” Lily asked, breaking Kyra’s silence. Her tone held a faint amazement.

Richie glanced over at Kyra’s plate and shrugged. “You say nothing when I get like that, Lily.”

“That’s because I’m used to it by now.”

Kyra chuckled. “Yes, I skipped breakfast, I remembered how much Delara, Patrick, and Richie cooked last time I was here.” Her words made Riker, Richie, and Nene laugh, and drew a reluctant smile from Lily.

Realizing she needed to take a breather before she made herself sick from eating too quickly, Kyra sipped her wine. “I didn’t know you knew Delara and Patrick, Lily.”

Lily looked startled at Kyra’s question, then nodded, as if realizing they had not discussed if they had any mutual friends. “I used to work with Patrick; when I left the company two years ago, he insisted we stay friends. I didn’t know you knew them either. I haven’t been attending their weekly dinners as often as I used to.”

“No wonder you two didn’t know how connected you are,” Jessie interjected. “What’s your excuse, Kyra?”

Kyra shook her head. “I couldn’t; I was attending a class that would help my business, and then going to some industry networking events.” She did not mention seeing them at Duncan and Richie’s sparring sessions, figuring they would not have shared the secret of immortality with Lily.

“How is that doing?” Richie asked, overhearing her. “I’ve missed getting the daily updates since you moved out.”

Kyra grinned; it had been nice to have discussions on strategy and marketing over breakfast, but once her bank account had been funded, she saw no reason to overstay her welcome. “Better than it was last month,” she said. “I’m up to six clients now.”

Richie toasted her, which caused the other people at the table to join in. “Congrats.”

“Thanks. I will be busy between now and Christmas, but it’s a good busy.”

“Are you the only employee?” Nene asked. At Kyra’s nod, Nene then continued, “Do you ever worry about overworking yourself?”

Kyra shook her head. “No, I learned that lesson a long time ago. Besides, MacLeod and Richie would notice I was too busy for them and get worried about me.”

“Have you known them a long time?” Jessie asked.

Kyra grinned. “MacLeod and I go way back, and I spent my first two-and-half weeks in Seacouver as Richie’s houseguest. I prefer to think of it in terms of quality, not quantity.”

“Oh, God, yes,” Jessie declared. “I’ve had people I’ve known for years reveal themselves to be total flakes when I needed them.”

“Nothing proves a friendship like a sickness,” Riker added. “Sharon says she’s gotten to where she can tell when the significant other will cut and run because of an ER visit.” At Kyra’s inquiring look, Riker elaborated, “My wife is an ER nurse at Seacouver General.”

Kyra nodded in understanding. “I’ve had people ask why I would put up with someone with medical issues, as if I should divorce him like he’s broken.”

“Are you married?” Riker asked.

Kyra shook her head. “Widowed, but it’s been twenty years since Richard died.”

“I’ve heard that story from many people your age,” Jessie remarked. “Was he military?”

“No, and I’d rather not discuss that story,” Kyra excused herself, unwilling to get into it, since rehashing it would open up inquiries into her real age.

“I understand,” Jessie said, but her tone made Kyra think she didn’t understand.

“Sharon and I have been married eighteen years; I can’t imagine life without her now,” Riker said, throwing a bone into the conversation.

Kyra gave him a grateful look, which he acknowledged with a slight nod.

“Our son is at the other table; he was so excited that Delara and Patrick relaxed their no-kids-at-dinner-parties rule because he’s now twelve.” Riker smiled wryly. “I’m sure I’ll hear him whine about why there aren’t any other kids.”

Nene chuckled. “He’s the one horrified to discover that while Duncan and his girlfriend, Vanessa, were invited, John and I weren’t.”

“What do you normally do for Thanksgiving, Nene?” Jessie wondered.

“Sleep,” Nene admitted. “I serve on the local chapter of the mechanical engineering society, and we’ve been planning a lot for next year, scheduling speakers for classes, reserving event space, etc. I’m not supposed to be working this much.”

“Are you retired?” Kyra wondered.

“Semi-retired,” Nene said. “Working for Duncan is my primary job, but I was a mechanical engineer for twenty-five years. I wanted to do something else with my life.”

“I know that one,” Kyra agreed. “I was a bodyguard for half my life.”

“You said you guarded a European pop star,” Lily bit her lip when she spoke, as if she didn’t want to admit having remembered that detail.

_Aha_, Kyra thought, _not as disinterested in me as you’d like to be. _“Yes, he changed record companies, and the firm I worked for had a contract with the old one. I was burned on protecting celebrity clients, so I thought about what I wanted to do instead.”

“Have you ever had to protect someone you thought was a jerk?” Riker wondered.

“Mostly politicians,” Kyra admitted.

“Politicians will always do what’s good for them, not necessarily for the people they represent,” Lily said.

“Hear, hear,” Jessie echoed. “I’ve had people tell me I should quit my job because I work for an evil megacorporation.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re usually the people working for companies who aren’t doing as well at corporate responsibility and diversity. Kyra, do you ever get anyone tell you what you’re doing is wrong?”

“All the time,” Kyra said, smiling.

Kyra quickly learned of Jessie’s interest in her. Part of her wanted to declare she was taken, but she was not sure what Lily wanted, so she answered all of Jessie’s questions. Lily said nothing, but her silence worried Kyra.

After dinner, the group retreated to the living room. Delara and Patrick introduced Kyra to the occupants of the other table. Besides Duncan, Vanessa, Delara, and Patrick, the other dinner guests were Delara’s parents, Jasper and Banu Mewsewa; John Wood, the other senior instructor at Duncan’s dojo; Joe Dawson, Duncan’s Watcher and Genevieve Rojas, Richie’s Watcher; Sharon Williams, Riker’s wife, and their twelve-year-old son, Mike; Lashandra Eicher, a friend of Delara’s from her barre3 class, and Mark Townsend, a server at Joe’s alone on the holiday. Kyra noted both Watchers seemed at ease, which told her that at least on holidays, Delara and Patrick included them as if they were any other friend. That went a long way to reassure Kyra their presence was not a tolerated necessity. She spent a few minutes reacquainting herself with those among the group she had met. Genevieve had made herself known on a morning run Kyra had done with Richie; Kyra liked her calm demeanor.

“If you and Joe are here,” Kyra murmured to Genevieve when the crowd moved to the kitchen to get dessert, leaving them alone, “was the supposed twenty-something skateboarder at the liquor store my chronicler, or just your substitute?”

Genevieve flushed guiltily. “Both; Brian’s in training. Today was supposed to be Brian’s first day solo. He wasn’t supposed to be that obvious.”

“Tell him he needs to blend in more. His skateboard was too new and he didn’t look enough like an experienced skateboarder. I’d have bought the twenty-something with a rock band t-shirt, flannel overshirt, Columbia ski jacket, and jeans without the skateboard.”

Before Genevieve could reply, Jessie returned with a slice of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream and waved it in their direction. “No dessert?” she asked coyly, looking directly at Kyra.

“No, I-”

“-like fruit pies more,” Lily cut in, surprising them.

It was a bald-faced lie, but Kyra decided against protesting it. Her instinct proved right when Lily asked, “Kyra, can I talk to you in private?”

Startled, Kyra excused herself. Lily headed upstairs; Kyra followed. Once in the guest bedroom, Lily turned to Kyra.

“Are you going to take Little Ms. Obvious up on her offer?” Lily demanded, fire in her eyes.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” Kyra noted, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall nearest the door. “And you didn’t ask for fidelity.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” Lily returned tartly. “Not after you told me you wanted someone for a relationship.”

“And you told me you didn’t want me asking for one. You don’t want me asking questions, learning more about you than how to pleasure you,” Kyra told her. “Every time I’ve tried to ask you over breakfast, you’ve shut me down. I want more, Lily. I learned more about you in the last half hour than I have in the past five weeks.”

Lily looked away briefly. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Kyra stepped closer and kissed her. “Only if we keep not talking, Lily. Do you want more?”

“Yes, but I–” Lily bit her lip. “I don’t think you want a fairy Goth.”

Kyra eyed her skeptically. “I want you, pretty Lily. I love your style. Why wouldn’t I want you as you are?”

“Most people haven’t,” Lily responded. “They take one look and leave. Or they get to know me and then they leave because they realize I’m not going to change.”

“Then they don’t know what a sensuous and caring woman you are,” Kyra countered. “I heard how you rescued Vanessa from her ex.”

“I got mad,” Lily admitted. “I don’t go that far unless I’m pissed off, and I wanted my best friend back.”

“Most people wouldn’t have bothered,” Kyra pointed out. “They would have done what they could long-distance and called it ‘enough.’ You didn’t.” She gripped Lily’s shoulders briefly. “That’s admirable. I want to know more about you. I want to take you out on dates, show the world I’m proud to be with you, and give you everything I can. I want to claim you’re my girlfriend; show that we’re committed to each other, excluding all others. You have only to say yes, Lily. I don’t want to be just your Saturday night.”

Lily took a breath. “And if I say yes?”

“Then we see where it goes,” Kyra said easily. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’ve never had a lover treat me like you do. My ex-fiancée wanted me to marry her as soon as it was legal, but when I talked about where we would live, she wanted me to sell my condo. I bought it when I was twenty-seven, when I could barely afford the mortgage. She also wanted me to march for LBTGQ+ rights and appear on a TEDTalk about them. I kept telling her no. She accused me of only pretending to be a lesbian.” Hurt flashed across Lily’s face. “That was five years ago. Jessie reminds me of her, and I know Jessie’s an activist.”

Kyra stepped closer. “I’m not an activist, but I am a feminist,” Kyra told her, taking Lily’s hands. “I’ve spent most of my life proving women can do what a man does. That doesn’t mean I’m going to march in any parade or appear on a video posted to the internet. I prefer to stay anonymous.”

Lily looked down at Kyra’s hands and closed her eyes briefly. “I don’t trust others easily,” she admitted. “My parents wanted a trophy more than they wanted a daughter; it’s made me doubt everyone’s sincerity. I’m always looking for the catch when someone offers me what I want.”

Heart aching for her, Kyra gripped her hands briefly. “Then let me take the time to earn your trust,” she told Lily. “You know I’ll never hurt you deliberately.”

Lily hesitated. “You should probably know I know your secret to looking ageless.” At Kyra’s jerk of surprise, she said, “I watched both Duncan and Richie look anxious about five minutes before you showed up. They told me about immortals the same time they told Vanessa; they figured she would tell me because she tells me everything. And because I believe in the paranormal.”

Concerned, Kyra studied her. “You don’t think I’m a freak.”

Lily shook her head. “No. Now, if you’re a vampire, then yeah. Sleeping in a casket is not comfortable; I’m not that Goth.”

Kyra burst out laughing. “You say that like someone’s checking your credentials.”

“Someone might be,” Lily insisted, grinning. She sobered. “But speaking of things your kind does – I noticed you ate like Richie does. Do you do that all the time?”

“No, I skipped breakfast,” Kyra told her. “And I had to fight someone; that’s why I was late. Doing so always burns a lot of energy.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “Are you okay? Was it someone after you?”

“No, I just was the next lucky contestant on a headhunter’s list. He was waiting for me outside the liquor store where I bought wine. He’d staked out the neighborhood near the Wilburton House, since he had heard either Richie or MacLeod was living close by.”

Concerned, Lily asked, “Should you let Richie know that?”

“I did when I came in, but if you’re thinking they need to handle the problem, the headhunter’s not a problem anymore,” Kyra told Lily.

Lily looked astonished. “You can fight?”

Kyra chuckled. “Yes. I’ve been alive a lot longer than MacLeod or his cousin.”

“I thought – okay, so I assumed – it was just the men who played the Game.”

Kyra shook her head. “No. Among our kind, women are outnumbered, but we’re expected to play it just as much as the men.”

Shocked, Lily stared at her. “And how many women have died because they can’t or refuse to fight?”

“Too many,” Kyra said grimly. “I was lucky; my teacher didn’t believe my gender made me weak. He drilled me like he would a soldier, until I was strong, skilled, and ready to fight. It made me angry that people assumed women were weak, so I swore an oath to fight for them. I became a soldier, then a bodyguard.”

Lily absorbed this news, amazed. “I would be terrified,” she admitted. “Richie let me hold his main gauche once and I almost dropped it.” She hesitated before asking, “How old are you?”

“I’m 2,468 years old,” Kyra admitted.

Lily’s jaw dropped open before she covered it with a hand and took a breath, pressing the same hand to her chest. “Well, I’ve always preferred older women,” she half-joked. “You don’t look much older than Richie.”

“I was twenty-five when I died in Sparta. I tripped and fell during a race. My opponent cheated to win.”

“Was he male?”

“Yes.”

“Bastard.”

Kyra grinned at Lily’s sympathy. “He was caught and punished, but not as severely as I would’ve liked.”

“You really are Greek.”

“Yes.”

“I can hear it when you’re tired or excited,” Lily told her, stepping closer. “If you can handle me as I am, Kyra, I want to be with you. I’ll keep your secrets. I swear I’ll do my best not to do anything stupid that endangers you or our friends.”

Kyra kissed her. “That’s all I can ask.” She offered her hand to Lily. “Shall we go downstairs and tell our friends we’re seeing each other, so they can stop worrying about us?”

Lily chuckled and took Kyra’s hand. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want more?


	9. Chapter 9

Over the next eight weeks, Lily found herself treated to a whirlwind of dates – to restaurants, dinners at home, movies and shows, sometimes with the rest of their mutual friends. Kyra brought her along when she bought a late-model Fiat 500, which surprised her, since Lily hadn’t expected to be consulted. Yet when Lily pointed out how dirty a white cloth interior could get, Kyra chose the model with a black leather interior. It told Lily Kyra expected her to be taking trips with her, and the consideration warmed Lily’s heart.

For Christmas, Kyra took her to a weekend getaway at a hotel with a full day at a spa, complete with a ninety-minute couple’s massage session, facials, manicures, and pedicures. Dinner that night was room service, but it was to a degree Lily had never experienced: the server transformed a roll-out half-desk into a table for two with a white table cloth, realistic-looking faux candles, the meals were served under individual silver domes, and everything felt as if they were having a five-star meal in a dining room.

Kyra asked questions, making Lily hyperaware of the fact none of her prior lovers had ever listened to her answers as intently or asked follow-up questions. Lily got to indulge in asking Kyra about her life as an immortal and her work as a security consultant.

“How have you survived so long, given your line of work?” Lily asked one afternoon.

“Some of it has been luck,” Kyra told her honestly. “And some of it has been a lot of dying and starting over. For most of my life, being a woman has been to my advantage; I’ve either been dismissed as part of the background and therefore unimportant; or needed because men weren’t allowed in women-only spaces. I haven’t always been lucky or unnoticed.”

“Because you’ve never been able to stay quiet and docile,” Lily surmised.

Kyra nodded. “For a thousand years, I made my living as a soldier; it was easy then, because the armies I fought in would take on any skilled soldier, regardless of gender. I fell in love with a general; I thought my love enough reason for him not to attack Greece. He did it anyway. It made me disillusioned, so I became a bodyguard for royalty, since they had the money and could pay. I spent a lot of time not caring about politics, Lily.”

“You couldn’t afford to.”

Kyra shook her hand. “I didn’t want to. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ve seen enough governments rise and fall it becomes easy to become uncaring about morality and ethics if the money’s good.”

Astonished, Lily stared at her. “What changed your mind?” she asked.

“Met a brash Englishman – another immortal. Only one of us I’ve ever married.”

“What’s his name?”

“Matthew,” Kyra told her. “Don’t worry; we’re not committing adultery. I died publicly and he had to mourn me, equally publicly, which nullified the marriage. Besides, I can’t see a court arguing that a 18th century wedding certificate is still valid.”

Lily giggled at that. “They’d have to prove you were alive back then.”

“Exactly.”

“What did Matthew say to you that made you reconsider your position on everything?”

“He argued that living only for the money means you close yourself off to the suffering of others and walk around with blinders on, that if being immortal means we help others, we must take that opportunity. He changed my mind about a lot of things, but he couldn’t get me to go with him to America.”

“You didn’t want to go explore a new country?”

Kyra chuckled. “Not particularly, no, and I liked the duchess I was guarding. I thought she could change things if I played my cards right.”

“Did she?”

Kyra grimaced. “No. She crumbled to pressure; she told me it was easier for someone like me – who was not royal and part of the hired help – to make a stand. Between Matthew’s leaving and that incident, I made changes.”

“What made you come here? From everything you’ve told me, it sounds like you were doing well where you were.”

Kyra took Lily’s hand. “I was lonely,” she admitted. “I pushed many people away because my work made it difficult to keep in touch with anyone. Plus, I had a chip on my shoulder for the longest time – I wanted to prove women could do anything. I might’ve gotten a little militant about it with people. I woke up one morning, two days after learning my contract to protect a Greek pop star ended and realized: no one knew I was alive. No one was calling to ask me how I was doing. I could take a challenge, die, and no one would mourn.”

Lily gripped Kyra’s hand. “Duncan would’ve asked about you,” she said, certain of it.

“Oh, eventually, I’m sure. But it would only occur to him after some time had passed, or if Joe remembered that our paths had crossed and had gotten a report of my death. I didn’t know of the Watchers before, but even if I had, that would’ve been small comfort. I might have even reported them for stalking and grave robbery.”

“Grave robbery?” Lily’s eyes widened.

“One husband was a Watcher, though I didn’t piece it together until Richie and MacLeod told me about them. I thought I was doing Michael a favor by burying his beloved writings with him.”

“And the Watchers dug him up so they could reclaim the Chronicles.”

Kyra nodded.

“Well, that’s ridiculous and excessive,” Lily said, offended. “I can’t imagine Joe or Genevieve doing that.” She paused. “Have you ever married a woman?”

“It wasn’t something I allowed myself to think about doing until I discovered it was legal in certain places,” Kyra admitted. “But my longest relationship ever was with a woman.”

“How long was that?”

“Twenty-seven years. Bridget would work as a governess or nanny while I’d work as a bodyguard. As much as we could, we tried to work for the same family. She was Irish, a hard worker, and intelligent.”

“What happened?”

“She lost her footing on the stairs, fell, and broke her neck. Victorian-era stairs, especially for the hired help, were a tripping hazard. We thought this family’s house was safe.” Kyra’s eyes darkened in remembered grief. “I always suspected someone pushed her. She told me the master’s eldest was handsy and didn’t like the way she told him no.”

Horrified, Lily asked, “Did no one investigate?”

“Not for the hired help,” Kyra said bitterly. “I quit a few days later.”

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “I can’t imagine what it’s like been for you, but it sounds like it would be easy for you to decide people weren’t worth your time and effort.”

“Hence my predicament. As I told Richie, I got used to getting to know people for work.”

Lily leaned over and kissed her. “Then I’m glad we met.”

Kyra murmured agreement and kissed her back, wanting to show her how much she appreciated having Lily in her life. For the rest of that evening, neither spoke of the past, too caught up in the now to think about anything else.

In the aftermath of spent passion, Kyra held Lily close. “In case it’s not been clear,” she told Lily, “I want to be with you for as long as we can be together. I love you, my fairy Goth flower princess.”

Lily’s eyes widened at the declaration. She shifted position so she could meet Kyra’s eyes. “Do you mean that?”

“Absolutely. If you don’t feel the same way-”

Lily kissed her, silencing that thought. “Love you, Kyra. Want you forever and always.”

Worried eyes met hers. “Even with the history I have?”

“Told Vanessa once I wanted an immortal, long before I knew they existed,” Lily replied. “And if your Matthew comes back and demands I give you up because you used to be married, I’ll make him regret it. You’re mine, Kyra.”

Grinning, Kyra kissed her. “Then let’s get married tomorrow.”

“And disappoint all our friends?” Lily asked archly. “Not I wouldn’t…just… y’know, friends.”

Kyra made a face at that reminder. “True. We like having friends, especially friends not mad at us. Think you can wait longer, make it fancier?”

“Hmm, a fairy Goth meets Greek wedding? Could be interesting.”

“I’ll hire a wedding planner,” Kyra decided. “Since neither of us knows what we’re doing and are too damn practical.”

Lily grinned. “Sounds like a plan. Love you so much, Kyra.”

“Love you too, Lily. I won’t make you wait too long, I swear. I’ll throw money at it if it helps make it the wedding we both want.”

“Not too much,” Lily argued. “I just want you not to regret it.”

Kyra’s eyes gleamed. “Never,” she swore.

_Kyra Stamoulis  
and  
Lily Cadigan Walton  
Request the honor of your presence  
on their wedding day  
Saturday, the sixteenth of May 2021  
Seacouver Centre Hotel, Ballroom A  
Dinner and dancing to follow_

Lily swore later their wedding coordinator was a fairy godmother. Somehow, she found a wedding dress worthy of Lily’s preferred style – a blood-red satin off-the-shoulder gown with a black rose lace overlay. The skirt of the dress looked straight out of a Southern belle gown, but the corset bodice, black lace, and scarf overhang echoed a more Gothic sensibility. For Kyra, her gown echoed a Greek goddess and made her feel like she was back to her roots, with its simple drape and gold belt, though Kyra had insisted on a full-length gown.

The venue was one of the city’s better hotels. The ballroom was decorated in red, white, and gold, with the decorations and floral arrangements echoing both Kyra and Lily’s insistence on beautiful, elegant, and nothing over-the-top. The result was a stunning marriage of romantic and practical.

Since Kyra and Lily’s guest lists overlapped, they expanded it to include the people they had met through Delara and Patrick, work contacts they had befriended, and immortals Kyra knew but had lost contact with. By the time the list was tallied, they had invited two hundred people; a hundred fifty attended.

To Kyra’s amusement, Matthew offered to give her away. Since it appealed to her sense of humor, and Lily found it endearing that he offered, they wrote the ceremony so Matthew could. Duncan and Vanessa became Kyra’s attendants; Patrick, Richie, and Delara, Lily’s. Since that made an odd number of attendants, Kyra asked Genevieve to stand with her. Shocked and deeply honored, Genevieve agreed.

The officiant was a friend of Delara’s, who was ordained as a minister in a community church.

In the moments before the ceremony began, Matthew turned to Kyra. “You never wanted a reason to stop running before,” he noted. “What makes Lily different?”

“She reminds me that it’s not living if we don’t have a reason to come home,” Kyra replied. Hearing his Southern accent after remembering the crisp English one he used to have only reinforced how long it had been since they had been husband and wife. “And as you tried to tell me so long ago, you can’t keep pretending, playacting at happiness. You made me better, Matthew of Salisbury, but she…” Kyra swallowed past the sudden lump of emotion in her throat. “She makes me look forward to next week, and the day after, and the days after that. I drifted too long without that.”

Matthew made a face at that news. “I looked for you, off and on. I was worried about you, but you cut ties with everyone who wasn’t directly involved with your work. It made me think you didn’t want anyone.”

“I didn’t,” she admitted, “until my job ended, and I had to start over again. It made me wonder just how many of us I pushed away. How much I’d settled for something that was now, not forever.”

“Then I’m glad you two met,” Matthew said firmly. Seeing the wedding coordinator signal them, he took her arm in his. “Ready, Kyra?”

“Yes.”

Arm in arm, Matthew and Kyra walked down the aisle. At the altar, he turned to her. “As the man once sworn to protect you, I am honored to stand for all who have gone before, and on behalf all those gathered here today. Go with god, Kyra.” He stepped back and sat down on the first row on the left, leaving Kyra at the altar. She took her position to face the assembly.

Lily entered on the arm of her aunt Paula, who looked serene and elegant in the gray suit she wore. Paula was openly crying, but through her tears, she managed, “As your aunt, I am honored to stand for your family, and on behalf of those gathered here today. Blessed be, Lily.”

Kyra stepped down and took Lily’s hand as the officiant said, ““We come now to the words Kyra and Lily want to hear the most today…what take them across the threshold from being engaged to being married.

“A marriage, as most of us understand it, is a voluntary and full commitment. It is made in the deepest sense to the exclusion of all others, and it is entered into with the desire and hope it will last for life.

“Your meeting was not planned, but your joining today is deliberate. It is your choice to spend all your life with someone who supports you, loves you and helps you grow.

“Kyra Stamoulis, once known as Kyra of Sparta, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Lily Cadigan Walton in marriage, and to take her as your partner to go through life with, laugh heartily with, and wake up to? To cherish, love, and protect, till you take your last breath? If so, answer ‘I do.’”

“I do,” Kyra said. “I swear to Artemis I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad. I give you my hand, my heart and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.”

“Lily Cadigan Walton, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Kyra Stamoulis, once known as Kyra of Sparta, in marriage and to take her as your partner to go through life with, laugh heartily with, and wake up to? To cherish, love, and protect, till you take your last breath? If so, answer ‘I do.’”

“I do,” Lily said, gripping Kyra’s hand. “I swear I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad. I give you my hand, my heart and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.”

“Who has the rings?”

Vanessa and Patrick handed them to the officiant.

“Love like these rings comes from serendipity and effort. Its beginnings are humble and low, but it stands the test of time, just like these rings. These rings are a perfect circle and have no end, so should your love be. Remember to wear these rings always. They are more than rings. They are pieces of you for each other. Treasure it and let it be a reminder of your love,” the officiant said.

Lily almost dropped the ring, but she got it onto Kyra’s hand. Kyra did not have that problem.

“Kyra and Lily, in as much as you have pledged yourself, one to the other, by the exchanging of vows and rings I, by virtue of the powers vested in me by the Marriage Act, do hereby pronounce you to be married. You may exchange a kiss as a token of your joy,” the officiant said.

Kyra and Lily kissed passionately. Hand in hand, they walked down the aisle and into their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily's wedding dress: [here](https://www.etsy.com/au/listing/695631049/gothic-belle-redblack-lace-fantasy-gown)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's read and commented along the way. As always - comments, kudos, and keyboard smashes always welcome, even when this fic is "old."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, constructive criticism, kudos, keyboard smashes, and suggestions for where this goes next all welcome. I rarely don't finish something I start posting, so please let me know what you think of this!


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